


Checks and Balances.

by TheBlondeRecluse



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Awkward Romance, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Psycho Butch, Romance, disfunctional relationships, etc. - Freeform, polyamorous, well...misunderstood...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlondeRecluse/pseuds/TheBlondeRecluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brute's not really the relationship type. Friends with benefits, sure sometimes. But not relationships. They just never seemed appealing. Being intimate? Sharing and talking about feelings? Ha. She'd have to, y'know. Have feelings for someone to try that. </p><p>She never thought meeting a few people, would get her into this big of a clusterfuck. Nothing was exclusive, but perhaps she shouldn't have had two lovers at the same time to begin with. Then again, she never expected, let alone intended for any of this to happen the way it did. Or at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

    Townsville CinnaBar. A relatively popular bar on the more sketchier side of town. It was small and not well known given the area it resided, but it was a happenin’ place. Good music, clean booths, open late, and their signature, and source of popularity: Their cafe. Same hours as the bar, the cafe served various coffees and pastries. The coffee was crap this late at night, but it catered mostly to dead tongued drunks. Didn’t have to taste good, just had to perk you up. And damn if it didn’t.

 

    I threw my head back and sucked down a shot of vodka, and slammed the glass back on the table. After a few moments of just sitting, not particularly staring or thinking about anything I poured another shot into the glass. I didn’t drink it just yet, but it would be there when I felt like downing it. The bottle was sat back down with a clunk on the small table I was seated at. It burn my throat, tasted like hell, and I didn’t recognize the brand. In fact I couldn’t even read the bottle. Not because I was drunk, but because it was in another language. I assume Russian, so people would be tricked into thinking it was the good stuff from the motherland. But it was just a cheap penny bottle of knock off vodka. No matter though. It was doing it’s job. I could still think relatively clear, but my limbs were starting to feel heavy.

 

    It had been a bit of a disappointing day really. When I was younger I had been a bit of a rowdy vicious punk. I am now twenty-two, I put makeup on dead people for a living, and between my two sisters, the three of us barely make enough money to keep our shitty apartment. Well, we would be okay, if Beserk actually pitched in and helped. Or if Brat would stop blowing the money she and I make.

 

    When I was about fifteen I started getting into this underground fighting group that met up every so often. At the time I loved it, and was only doing it for a little walking around money. But hard times tend to take the fun out of things. When my oldest sister Berzerk turned eighteen, our father kicked us out. Well, he kicked her out. Brat and I followed. I had to start working hard to get more money out of more fights, even if I was still recovering from a past fight. Somewhere along the way, all the fun was drained out of it. It turned into a job, I really didn’t want to do anymore. Things got better after I started painting the dead, but I still continued in the fights. It wasn’t always much but it was extra money. And it helped.

 

    It wasn’t always easy. Less money often meant poor diet, which didn’t bode well for staying in shape. Sometimes the fights weren’t good. If I did well, I got more money. If I lost I didn’t as much. If the fight was over to fast, neither fighter got much money. You win some you lose some. What everyone really wanted to see was a good fight. Too fast or too long and they lost interest entirely. The best paying fight was one that kept everyone on their toes. Those were my favorite. They got my blood pumping and brought out a side of my that rarely saw the dark of night, let alone the light of day. The kind you might not walk, but limp away from. Feel it for the next week. Like tonight.

 

    Some bitch...Some stupid bitch, new to the game failed to see what a good fight it was turning out to be. It was still early in the fight. She was good. It brought a grin to my face and a chuckle to my throat. I was starting to have fun. The crowed was getting ampt up. It was starting to get good. She didn’t seem to think so. Every dodge of or blow I struck deepened the angry sneer on her face. My smirk probably wasn’t helping. I dodged and averted what I thought was going to be a tempol hit to my shoulder. I didn’t see the knife until I yelled and saw the handle sticking out of my left arm. I saw red. My smirk had dropped into a snarl. With a roar I pulled the knife out, tackled the stab happy bitch to the concrete and held the bloody switchblade to her throat.

 

    Before it could go any further the crowed pulled us apart. We would’ve gotten a killing for that fight, if not for the knife. No weapons. Only newbies tended to forget that rule. Getting impaled wasn’t punishment enough. Any weapon used in a fight and both participants are disqualified for any sort of payment. There weren’t many rules in this town for underground fighting, but that was a biggy.

 

    That being a bust, I started walking home. I didn’t make it that far before walking magically turned into limping, and the pain in my arm started to really kick in. I thought it best to stop at my favorite bar to numb some of that pain, and patch myself up a bit. I bought a bottle of vodka, headed into the bathroom and cleaned myself up a bit. It hadn’t quite stopped bleeding yet, but it was a clean through-and-through. It had slowed a bit as it was, but I still wrapped it in paper towels for the time being to catch what oozed out until I could get home and properly take care of it. It would stop in a few hours anyway. After that I headed up into the loft above everyone and sat in the corner by the railing overlooking everyone. Hardly anyone went into the loft. The only tables were the small singles that only seated two people, and there was even less room up top than down below. I liked it. I could observe the entirety of the chaos below from a calm and safe distance. Besides, most everyone on ground level probably couldn’t even make it up, or down, the stairs to begin with.

 

    So there I was, silently drinking away the pain in my arm, the soreness in my limbs...Watching everything like some sort of bar creep. I raised my brows to myself with that thought and took another shot.

 

    “MITCH, FUCK OFF!!” I heard through the drunken clatter down below. There’s hardly ever that much oomph in someone this late at night. It’s past midnight. Everyone’s drunk and loud, but usually they're too inebriated to get fighty. I glanced over the side of railing. I could see some people parting around a brown haired boy and what I think was a girl wearing a hat that had been sitting on the bar stools. I couldn’t really make out or see any faces, but going off body language they both seemed rather agitated. I could see the hit coming. This was going to get ugly.

 

    I stood with a little too much ease and almost fell over. After recovering I headed down the stairs. I had to snake my way through the crowd as many had already started to stand up and try so get a better view of what was going on. I could hear the guy trying to stay quiet and discreet, but with how loud and badly he was slurring I’d bet my car he didn’t notice that they were the center of attention. Over that I could hear the girl hollering away at him. As I got closer to the bar I noticed Rodrick, the tender, was getting his shotgun from under the counter.

 

    “Hold it, hold it, hold on there Rod.” I said trying to defuse him. He glanced up, and noticed who had spoke.

 

    “No fighting Brute.” He stated firmly. Over his voice I could here the two getting hyffier by the second.

 

    “Don’t cock it just yet, they sound slammed off there asses. How much damage can they do?” I reasoned. I don’t think he’d actually shoot anyone, but the shotgun was his weapon of choice for when the CinnaBar gets too rowdy, just to threaten and scare everybody. But he always had this look in his eye. Like he might do it. Not that I thought he would, but lots of people tend to report his actions, and the last thing I wanted was my favorite bar to get shut down.

 

    “Then get over there and fix it.” He growled. My lip curled at the honry bastard, but I ducked over there none the less. Not the first time I, or another regular, would swoop in and fix one of these.

 

    “You’rebein’ so unfair righnow! We- we- we’re great’gether, n’ ye won’t even thing aboutit.” The guy slurred. I finally managed to get through everybody to get a good look at everything. The guy was tall and almost a little gangly. There was a mop of brown hair on his freckle covered head, golden eyes, clad in a plain brown shirt and blue jeans.

 

    “Mitch furthelove’vgod wil’you shuttup already? Gettoverit!!” The girl slurred. She was a little taller than me, black hair just barely long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail sticking out the back of a green ball cap. I assume it was probably a bob. She had on a black basketball T with white accents over a jade green long sleeve, and a tattered pair of worn out pants, which used to be dark wash but had faded with time and a pair of white and green beat up running shoes.

 

    “Hey! What the hell’s goin’ on in this neck of the woods?” I said firmly. The boy snapped his gaze in my general direction before he finally focused enough to figure out I was the one who had spoken.

 

    “Hey, you, hey hey. Shuttup. This ain’t anyofyur bizness.” He said trying to sound hushed again. But still loud enough to hear clearly.

 

    “Iz notanyof Your buisness either! You sonuva-!” The girl started. Then the guy jumped in and I couldn’t understand a word outta both of them.

 

    “HEY!” I hollered getting both of their attention. “You're right. It’s not any of my business. It’s not any of our business.” I gestured to everyone in the bar. “But when I can hear it from clear up in the loft, it becomes my business. When you start makin’ a scene in here, I make it my business.” All the while the girl has been agreeing with everything I say and glaring this guy down. I heard her say something along the lines of ‘I likethiz bitch’ and looked like she was about ready to throw her arm around me. “Okay, I don’t know what this is about, an’ I don’t care what this is about. But you can either drop it, or take it somewhere else.” I hissed and pointed to the door.

 

    “Yeah, Buttercup, lestalk abouthis somewherelse.” The guy said stepping closer to the girl.

 

    “No Mishh, fukov I’mnot goin’ anywhere.” The girl growled.

 

    “Buttercu-” The guy reached out and grabbed her wrist.

 

    “NO!” The girl hollered as she ripped her arm from his grasp. However her hand was clenched in a fist, and she tore free and spun around she ended up decking me in the cheek. I fell back a little and caught myself on the bar counter.

 

    “Ohno, you okay friend?” The girl asked. “Msorry!”

 

    I saw a hit coming. Had no idea it would land on me. At least not like that.

 

    “Oh! Y’see whatye di? Thisiswhy we’need’tleave!” The guy said. Stepping closer and going to grab at her again while she was trying to see if I was alright. Now I was getting pissed off. Before he could touch her I flung myself forward cutting him off. As I was now between the two, he stumbled back a little.

 

    “Okay! I just told you you can either forget about it or leave! You wanna leave, and she wants to forget about it! How ‘bout you take a hint, and take a hike already!” I hollered. I was already agitated, then he took a step forward to say something else. I decked him and the crowd moved away enough for him to fall on his ass.

 

    “I have reasoned, and now I am asking nicely. Get the fuck out.” He glared up at my words, now holding his bloody nose. I was neither in the mood or the condition for this. As he started to stand up I heard a loud gun cock from behind me. The guy froze.

 

    “You were asked nicely.” Rodrick growled. He stood for a good minute glancing between the girl and Rodrick’s shotgun before slurring something under his breath and very drunk-angry quickly headed to the door.

 

    “Hahahahah, if thatwuz nice I’dun wannano what mean is.” The girl chuckled finally throwing her arm over my shoulder. I turned around just as Rodrick was putting his gun away. We locked eyes for a moment, and exchanged a nod. Then he look towards the girl hanging off my shoulders.

 

    “What about this one?” He asked eyeing her with distaste. Not sure why. It didn’t seem like she started it. She may have been provoking, and aggressive, but she seemed to want to end the fight and get that guy to leave her alone. I smirked.

 

    “I got her.” I said, and lead her up towards the loft. She laughed but came along.

 

    “If you're leadin’mefrom dabar you betterbe buyin’.” She smirked. I snorted and sat her down at my table.

 

    “Pfft, I break up your fight before it get’s too ugly and get that monkey off your back, and I gotta pay? You should be buying my drinks. Heheh.” I chuckled as I filled my shot glass and passed it to her.

 

    “Haha, acceptin’ drinksfrom someone n’ I dun’even knowyur name. Am’I in a fratt’house righnow?” She said chuckled. There was a moment of silence before she looked at me a bit more serious and added, “M’kiddin’, ‘m noh thadrunk. Yet.” She said and downed the shot. Then filled it back up and passed it back.

 

    “Y’know you’do seem’alil familiar. Do I’knowyou?” She asked as I threw one back, and filled it up. I smirked a little as she tossed her head back. She didn’t recognize me right off the bat, but I knew exactly who she was. Eh, she probably wouldn’t anyways. We mostly stayed out of each others affairs in highschool. She slammed the shared shot glass on the small table and extended her arm.

 

    “I’m Buttercup Utonium.” She blurted. I smiled and took her palm.

 

    “Brute.” I said and shook on it. I stopped, but she didn’t quite let go. I cocked my head to the side.

 

    “Brute…?” She pressed.

 

    “Brute Plutonium.” I rolled my eyes. She raised a brow.

 

    “Thas awfully close ta’Utonium. Thatta fake name?” She inquired.

 

    “Will you let go of my hand?” I chuckled.

 

    “Nottill I getta real name.” She said simply. I pulled my hand away and started digging in my pocket. “Aw c’mon I thoughtwe bonded!”

 

    “Relax, I’m getting my ID.” I said and held up my wallet. She leaned forward and squinted to read the name. It took her a few seconds longer than I expected, which made me smile a bit. When she finally pulled back she put her hands up defensively with a goofy grin on her face.

 

    “Sorry, wasjus checkin’.” She said. I gestured that it was fine.

 

    “I getcha. Hey,” I poured and slid a shot over to her, and held up the bottle itself up like a toast. “-to new friends!” Buttercup’s grin deepened as she picked up the glass and clinked it to the bottle.

 

    “And good ones!” She hoped and tossed back her shot. I tossed back the bottle and probably drank about three shots worth. With a cringe I set the bottle back on the table.

 

    “Heheh, speakin’of...m’sorry ‘bout Mishh. He really iz’a googuy, he’sjus...M’sorry, ‘bout’hm…” I cocked my head to the side.

 

    “Bit of’a history between you two?”

 

    “There really isn’t.” She said dryly.

 

    “What was all that about, anyway?”

 

    “Pfft. Heheh, I’m not nearly drunk enough to wanna get into that.” She said as she took a pull off the vodka bottle. I shrugged.

 

    “Fair enough.”

 

    “Bleh!” She coughed as she put the bottle back on the table. “Whateven isthiz, i’suckz!”

 

    “Right?” I chuckled.

 

    An hour and forty minutes, and about two thirds of the bottle later, and Buttercup was drunk enough to talk about what had happened. Talk about anything really. With anyone.

 

    

* * *

 

 

    “Wai-wai-wait, whaaaaaat? Yerjokin’!” I slurred.

 

    “I’mnot *hic* kiddin’. Twomonths, junior’yer. Thazit.”

 

    “Thenwhahappend?” I leaned in, getting wrapped up in the story she told over the CinnaBar’s specialty. Cinnamon rolls.

 

    “Hahah, yurtotally eatin’ this highzkull bullshittup!” Buttercup snarked.

 

    “You kiddin’? Stupiddumbass teen drama? It’z hilarious! I love thistuff!” I chided. Buttercup took another bite of her cinnamon roll, then pointed her fork at me.

 

    “Hey. whash’it. I wastha dumbassteen.”

 

    “No, nono! Mitch, wasthe dumbassteen’n. You, were schtuck in’damiddle of’a clusterfuck’n cyclone, notkknowin’ wha’dahell washappenin’. Or whattadoo.” I pointed out. And took a swig off the vodka bottle.

 

    “Damn, makeoutwihtme to be the victim, why don’tcha!”

 

    “Hmm?” Mouth of drink and cinnamon roll goo, I gave her a questioning look.

 

    “I saaaid, Make Me Out To Be The Victim, why don’tcha!” She clarified. “I hadplenty ta’do with ittoo! I could’a handledit allthat better.”

 

    “Hm.” I gave an affirmative nod, and spun my wrist around to get her to continue with her funny as hell tale of high school bull.

 

    “Ohrigh...So afterthat fiasco, we decidedto stay friendz.” I almost started coughing when she said that.

 

    “Wha?...” I gaped. Buttercup gave a nod as she took another bite of her cinnamon roll.

 

    “Yep. ‘N I thoughtitwas goin’ purttygood. Wedidn’t talk much afterhe lefttown for college. Then’ee showsup’n town lastweek want’n t’hang’n I thought: Soundzgreat! Les’go get drinks. Wegettover’ere’n everythin’s goin’ fine! Were laughin’n reminiscin’ an’ competatively drink’n, cuz I guess old habits diehard.”

 

    “Mh. Amen’ta tha.” I agreed.

 

    “Here, here. Anyways, we slamn’did inta’afew, ‘n suddenly he starts goin’ on about how good we weret’gether, ‘n howe’ve both grown, an he wanted ta’give us another try.”

 

    “No!” I gasped. “Did he use thosexact w’rds?”

 

    “ Hey, shuttup. I almos’gagged. So I turned’m Down’n he’s all, why? Areyou seeing someone? An’ I said no!” She squawked as if it was supposed to be obvious. “N’so he’sall, then whywon’t you jusgivit a try? An’ -UGH!! He wouldn’dropit!”

 

    “Eh, whatcha’gon do, -Ah! Ah! Ah! Noo!” I said as I swatted Buttercups hand away from the vodka, and pushed her cinnamon roll closer to her. “You're cuttoff, rememblur?”

 

    “Maybe, you outtalayoff too.” She giggled. I looked at her in drunken shock.

 

    “I-wha? No, I’m-I’m fine. No. I knowmy bodjy. I’mean, body.” I said trying to play myself off as sober.

 

    “No, no, dude. Here, eat- eat m’re cinnaroll. Eat more cinnaroll.” Buttercup said as she pushed my plate towards me.

 

    “Mhh...Yeaah.” I said with a happy grin and took another bite. “Soooo gooooooodj.” I moaned.

 

    “Yeaaaaaah.” Buttercup agreed. “An’ I won’get hangover’if I eat’m?”

 

    “No.” I laughed.

 

    “What? Why’would you sayso th’n! Thazno’funny!” She sputtered. I giggled harder. It probably sounded like I was drowning.

 

    “Cuz no’one everwans’ta try’em drunk, n’ ther soooo gooooood.”

 

    “Whynot?”

 

    “They Are Good!” I said, almost appalled.

 

    “I, -Wha…? No, yeah they’are. I meant, why don’they tryit?”

 

    “Oh...everybody thinks thergonna puke iftheydo. An’ therethe bast cinnarolls aroun’.”

 

    “Yeah, they are.” Buttercup repeated, as I reached for the bottle.

 

    “Hey! No, hey, I said no.” Buttercup said taking the bottle before I could get it.

 

    “I’m notthatbad. I’m justartin’ to catch up with you.” I said pointing at her with both hands. Probably didn’t help my case.

 

    “C’mon, if I’m cut so’er you.” She said and held the bottle over the railing of the loft. “Infact *gasp* Oh no…!” She said as if she just realized exactly what she had done. Which was pour out the last quarter over the side. Both of our faces dropped, and we leaned to look bellow us, where a couple of early mourning drunks were examining the vodka all over them. Then one of them hollered out: It’s Rainin BOOZE!! As if it were a miracle. We both started laughing hard and sat back in our spots. Then Buttercup flung the bottle behind her, and it shattered on the floor in the loft. We both remained silent as I stared at the broken glass.

 

    “Oh dear…” Buttercup muttered.

 

    “Oh Rodricks’not gonna be happy abou’that…” I started giggling and a deranged wide smile spread across my face.

 

    “Hey Buttercup…”

 

    “...Yeah?”

 

    “Les, quick, les’get outta here.” I suggested.

 

    “Good Idea!” Buttercup said as she slammed her hand on the table and started trying to get up. The both of us, giggling unbalanced messes somehow made our way down the stairs and outside. Once we got out we stumble-ran another block before stopping.

 

    “Di-...Di’we maket?” Buttercup asked between breaths. I looked back the way we came.

 

    “Mhh….Yeah!” I confirmed, and the both of us broke into yet another fit of giggles.

 

    I looked at Buttercup. Really looked at her. She hadn’t changed much since highschool. Even under her clothes I could tell she still had a more fit, fem-uscular build. Even running drunk it was plain to see she knew the proper running form. Probably still went to the gym. It didn’t look bad on her. I remember in highschool she was the queen of sports. I looked at her face. She still didn’t wear makeup either. And it’s as true now as it was in highschool: She didn’t need it. Lucky bitch always had good skin and a healthy glow about her. Even now, her face pink and glistening in sweat from alcohol, she looked stunning. It was a little discouraging. I had to wear makeup, an the only stuff pale enough to look okay I had to swipe from work. Her hair was a mess under her hat right now, but I could tell from what hair was currently framing her face that whoever cut it new what the hell they were doing.

 

    I was pulled from my thoughts when Buttercup lightly punched my bad arm. I must’ve been hammered, cuz I didn’t feel any pain. And my limp was gone.

 

    “I won!” She proclaimed. I smirked and pushed her back. She was still competitive.

 

    “Oohshiiite...Did’I dotha?” Buttercup slurred. My brows pinched as she reached her hand up towards my face. She sorta started swatting, but I think she was just trying to touch my face, but not quite reaching far enough.

 

    “Do what?” I asked confused.

 

    “That shiner.” She said as her hand gingerly grazed my face. I pushed her hand away, then felt my face.

 

    “Ohno hah, you're this one.” I said and pointed to the bruise on my cheek, which I was sure had formed by now. I had gotten hit in the eye earlier tonight at fight club. Apparently it’s only now beginning to show.

 

    “Ah, whaaat? What happeneded?” Buttercup asked trying to caress my face again. Once again I pushed her hand away.

 

    “Nothin’ don’worry aboudit.” I said and pushed her hand away, then just held it so she couldn’t try again.

 

    “I’mso*hic*sorry.” She apologized again.

 

    “I’sfine.”

 

    “Hehehe.”

 

    “What?”

 

    “You're holdin’ my hand -Pfffft!!!”

 

    “Yeah, cuz’you keep touchin’ my face!” Suddenly from down the street several gunfires echoed causing both of us to look back in the direction of the bar. My brow furrowed.

 

    “Damn, i’sfour already?”

 

    “Huh? Wha-whatwas all that!”

 

    “No, i’snot whatchu think--,”

 

    “I’m callin’ the cops.”

 

    “NO! No! I’s jus Rodrick!”

 

    “Whaat? The bartender? That didn’sound lika shotgun.”

 

    “Nonono, he does this everynigh’at closing.”

 

    “What!?”

 

    “He’s got a handgun fulla blanks, he fires’m off at closing’t scare off th’drunks quicker.” Buttercups jaw dropped.

 

    “...Whakinda jankyass neiborhood am I in? That’sterrifying!”

 

    “Hahahah, i’works!”

 

    “Tha’guys fuckin’ scary!”

 

    “No, Roddy’s hilarious!” I laughed.

 

    “Wait, di’you say i’s four?”

 

    “*hic* Yep.”

 

    “Aw, I need’ta call my sister.” Buttercup stated, pulled out her phone, and walked around the corner. I shook my head a little and sat at a street bench not far. It wasn't long before I followed her lead, and pulled out my phone to call a late night cab service. By the time that was sorted out Buttercup had returned and had been sitting patiently next to me on the bench.

 

    "So...do'you c'mere offen?" Buttercup asked a little while after I ended my call. I almost burst out laughing at the question.

 

    "D'aw, wer'you hopin'ta tell me more high school stories?" I teased. Buttercup ribbed me.

 

    "Hahah... I mighh've afew more...-I'mean shuddup!"

 

    "Heheh, wha makesyou ask?" I wondered aloud. Buttercup shrugged.

 

    "I dunno you-...I dunno. Y'jus seem'ta know the place well. Plus y'can really 'andle yer booze."

 

    "Heheheh..." I laughed. "To answer'yer quession. Thissiz my flavorite bar. So yeah... Every so-offen." Buttercup looked like she was going to say something, but I got distracted by the cab that started to drive in the direction of the bar. I blinked wondering if that was the one I called for. Either they got here really quick or I was drunker than I thought...better get home.

 

    "I think thas my um...uh. Thingy...ride." I said as I got up, a bit off balance and almost fell over.

 

    "Heheh careful! Heh, maybeyou can't handlel it." Buttercup said on second thought.

 

    "Wha? Nah, m’fine. Looketme I gotthis.” I said as I swayed a bit.  

 

    “Juzbe careful m’kay.” I heard Buttercup say as I stumbled away.

 

    “Yeah, yeah, shuttup!” I growled as I waved her off.

 

    “Ahahehh, okay bye friend.”

 

    And that was the last exchange between the two of us for the night. I rounded the corner and slowly made my way back to the bar. It took a few moments to noticed, between the haziness and the dark of night, I spotted a taxi humming in a cloud of exhaust down a little farther from the bar. As I approached I reached my arm out to tap the glass but ended up just slapping my whole hand on it a couple of times. The cabbi looked up and cracked the window open. Without missing a beat I asked, “Taxi fer Brute?”

 

    The guy looked taken aback a little. “Ye-yeah?” I gave a nod, and half dove into the back seats. When I straightened out and buckled in I caught the guy looking at me with knit brows through the rear view mirror. I knew what it was about.

 

    “You new’ta the nighshift?” I asked.

 

    “I’m sorry?”

 

    “Taxi drivin’.”

 

    “Oh! Um, yeah I just took up the nightshift. Why do you ask.”

 

    “You’re moonlightin’ now buddy. Yergonna have’ta get used t’seein’ some weird shit. Givit a week. Girls withguyish namesiz nothin’.” I said. He was a little quiet after that. “Yeah, thasrigh’. Drunks’kin read mindzz. Gettready for spoton an’ completely off accusations...Eitherway we won’t believe you ifyou deny anythin’.” I slurred already getting hit with a wave of drowsiness.

 

    Generally I would’ve stopped drinking hours ago. Without someone to keep things lively, drinking wore me out. Alcohol was relaxing and pain numbing, and usually ended with drowsiness and getting sleepy. For me at least. It had different effects on my sisters. Either way, now that I didn’t have an accomplice to keep my attention, the heaviness in my limbs, neck and eyelids were really starting to catch up with me. I needed something to keep my attention fast. I didn’t want to fall asleep in a cab. Again.

 

    “So, ye’got here prettyfass.”

 

    “Yeah, I wasn’t very far off when I got dispatched over here.” The driver said as he pulled away from the curb. “So where too miss Brute?”

 

    “Uh, jus...Jus turnup herrealquick.” I instructed.

 

    He did. I looked out the window as we passed the bench that I had just been at to check on my partner in crime of the night. I could see a vehicle parked nearby, ‘couldn’t tell the type or color in the dark, but I could see someone with mid length blond hair, I could tell because of how pale it was, helping lead Buttercup to the car. Probably her sister. Bub? Bubby? Something like that. In the driver's seat of the car I could see someone else. The redheaded sister I assume. That being taken care of I crossed my arms, leaned back in my seat and told the driver my address. Somewhere in between the ‘Now leaving Townsville’ sign and my apartment I had drifted off, not being able to keep conversing with driver. Back in Vilestown, home sweet home, I paid the cabbi, entered my castle, relocked the deadbolts, and collapsed on my bed, known by day as the couch, and fell asleep.

 

    

* * *

 

 

    “Alright Brutal, it’s almost one. Get your ass up.” I groaned as Brat crossed the room and tore open the curtains. My head was pounding, my eyes stung, my clothes, still in the ones from last night, were drenched, and I felt awful.

 

    “Jesus Brat! Close the damn blinds!” I growled. As I tried to burry my face in my shoulder. Yet, the slight shift shot a searing pain through my left arm and part of my chest causing me to hiss. I could practically feel Brat scrunch her nose up behind me.

 

    “The fuck was that about?” You okay?

 

    “Piss off.” Last night didn’t go well, but I’ll live.

 

    “Pff, whatever.” Just be careful.

 

    Our family was a pack. We were raised as wolves. We had our own language. Most people probably wouldn’t guess we were close siblings, and a lot of people thought we were down right awful to each other. But we did care for each other. We just expressed it differently.

 

    “I stay out just as late as you, so if I have to be up this early, you sure as hell do too, now get up.” She said as she hauled herself to the kitchen.

 

    “Make me some breakfast!” I barked.

 

    “Get outta bed and do it yourself!” She snapped back.

 

    “Please!”

 

    “...Fine.”

 

    And with that I forced myself to sit up. Between the hangover and the stab wound in my arm, my lip curled into a sneer. I would've put my face in my palms, but that would’a moved my arm too much for my liking. With a slight growl I heaved myself off the couch and headed into the bathroom. My clothes felt gross, and the soggy/dried paper towels wrapped around my arm felt absolutely disgusting. With a cringe I peeled the towels away, and inspected the damage. It was a bit difficult to tell with all the crusted blood, but it hadn’t bled in a while. Though, I’d probably need stitches, otherwise it’d just keep reopening, and not heal right. As cool as having another scar would be, I prefer to heal as quick as possible. Without further thought, I peeled off my clothes and hopped in the shower. A hot one.

 

    Once I got out I put on a bra and boyshorts underwear, and prepared to further inspect my injury. It was a bit red and puffy around the cut, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. The dumb bitch missed any thick veins, and bone. After a more thorough cleaning, and neosporin, I busted out the first aid kit containing a bandaids, needles, thread, a knife, a lighter, a mini bottle of alcohol, and for extreme cases, a stapler.

 

    “Oh, I hate it when my arm is on it’s period.” The sarcastic tone of Berserk rang. I rolled my eyes as I continued to stitch up my arm. Berserk leaned in the doorway of the bathroom with a glass in hand.

 

    “Here, Brat made you a poor man’s bloody mary for breakfast.” Berserk said setting the glass down on the counter. Cheap vodka, tomato soup, salt, and pepper. Nursing a vodka hangover, with vodka. Fight fire with fire. Drink fire to put out the fire in your belly and so on.

 

    “What’d you drag us outta bed for?” I asked through grit teeth as I put another stitch in my arm. Brat and I both had night shift jobs. I worked at the morgue from seven at night to three in the morning monday through friday. Most of the time just doing maintenance, and whatever they might need done. Minor secretary work, and sitting on my ass. But, living in Vilestown, we always had business. And when a fresh one came in, I did the makeup and got a bonus in my pay. Wasn’t a bad gig. Then I fought on weekends. Brat had similar hours, all week long. Berserk was the only one not working, so if I had to get up early on my day off, it sure as hell wasn’t Brat’s doing. And it’s better be for a good reason.

 

    “Clean up nice, we’re goin’ out tonight.”

 

    “Says who?”

 

    “Me, now suck it up and look sexy.” Berserk snapped. I quirked my brow, stopped mid stitch and looked at my oldest sister.

 

    “I need you two to act as my wing bitches tonight.” She explained. Oh, I see. She’s using us to go see her sugar daddy tonight.

 

    “Still doing the whole, no strings, no info, just names and sex thing?” I asked as I continued to dress my wound.

 

    “Well, and favors.”

 

    “Presents.” I corrected.

 

    “Of course.”

 

    “So your boy-toy won’t know we’re your sisters.”

 

    “Nope.”

 

    “Because he doesn’t know you have sisters.”

 

    “Wow Sherlock, you sure you're not secretly a detective? Is that what you do every night instead of dead-mans dress-up?”

 

    “Oh, ha. Ha. I did have a point, Ms.Sarcastic.” I rolled my eyes.

 

    “Which was?”

 

    “My point is, why do you need us as your ‘wing bitches’? Why not go out and find some uglier bitches to go with you? They’re probably dying just to see the inside of the places you two party at, an’ they’ll make you look better than we could.” I explained. Berserk scoffed and rolled her eyes.

 

    “Weren’t you going to be a psychologist? Standing around ugly people doesn’t make you look better by comparison, it makes you look uglier. You wanna look good, you get yourself a fine ass lookin’ group, and you all look nice.” I glared at her words. “What?”

 

    “Forensics. I wanted to go into forensics.” I growled.

 

    “Whatever. I need you and Brat, so we can look good as a group, now suck it up and be ready tonight.”

 

    “Yeah, yeah, just get out so I can focus.” I said as I finished my final stitch.

 

    “...So what happened last night?” Berserk asked. I gave her a look and gestured to my arm.

 

    “No! Really?!” Berserk rolled her eyes. “I mean after that dumbshit. Why’d you come home so late this time?”

 

    After wrapping up my arm in a final bandage I straightened up in thought. I hadn’t really gotten to the part of the day where I tried to think about what had happened the night before. It was hazy, mostly. It would come to me later when I wasn’t thinking about it, and slowly creep up on me throughout the day as my body reboots. Eventually the smaller details would fall in line, but for now…

 

    “Some dumb bitch brought a knife to a fist fight to start the night out...I staggered off to CinnaBar to sulk...Drank enough to stop limping and numb the throb in my arm, and…” I paused really taking in the bruise on my cheek. There was something about it…

 

    “...And?” Berserk prodded.

 

    “...I think I made a friend.” I said sounding almost as perplexed as I’m sure Berserk was.

 

    “That doesn’t sound like you.”

 

    “Yeah, tell me about it.” I said as I further inspected the bruise on my cheek, busted lip, and black eye; from the fight, then later the bar.

 

    “You must’ve been drugged.” Berserk teased.

 

    “Alright, gettout! I've got two purple spots and a busted lip to make disappear by tonight, and not that long to do it!” I barked, finally getting a little claustrophobic with her just standing in the doorway.

 

    “Have fun with your ghost makeup.” Berserk commented.

 

    “I will, have fun tarting yourself up for your boy-toy.” I replied. Berserk pursed her lip in a half snarl.

 

    “I can see your nipples!” Berserk snapped, as if I was supposed to be mortified, and stomped off with a fake pout. I smirked.

  
    “Good!” I called after her.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Christ Berserk…” I gaped. “You said dress for a party not tajma-freakin-hall!”

“Oh, knock it off, you look great!” Brat purred as she took in the view in front of us.

“Alright, we go in together, hang for a bit, then you two can go do whatever you want.” Berserk instructed.

We had taken a taxi into town since my car only had two seats, and Brat’s car apparently wasn’t nice enough. I could see why. Brat’s car was junk on wheels. This was...this was… We were standing in front of the fanciest club in Townsville. Not the type of club where everybody’s dancing in a smokey rave, but the type where very powerful people got together and basked in each others success and riches.

The whole building was an architectural masterpiece, black stone etched with intricate gothic designs, tall cavernous entrances with marbled columns...Even had goddamn spotlights. One would think this a real hotspot of important people if not for the area, the far end of oldtown Townsville. The surrounding area was ancient, well taken care of, but antient. None of the other buildings were open this late at night, and no one was in the streets. Secluded, and inconspicuous. To anyone, it would appear as a beautiful building, in a neat part of town. And it was. Which is why it was the perfect place for these people. Just as there is friendly conversation, there could very well be shady deals in the mix. Tonight was a night of social status.

I could see the sort of people going in. Even from a distance I could see the presence they emitted as they strode about. They were of high social standing and they were proud to let the whole world see every bit of it in their turned up noses, posture and quaintly curled lips. They were dressed really nice too. I had gave our trio a one over.

Brat was wearing a skin tight cerulean strapless sequin cocktail dress that only barely contained her breasts and ass. Under that were white stockings held up by garters, which could be seen clear as day, knee high gold boots, of which the top layer of the faux leather was beginning to chip and peel in spots, and a lavender leather jacket. As for hair, makeup, and jewelry, Brat had pulled her hair back into two high pigtails, a look I doubt she would ever abandon, and had curled it into several large bouncy curls. Along her wrists were several blue and gold bangles, and a pair of large gold hoops decorated her ears. And her white purse dangled to her right. Last but not least her war paint was the same as always. Mascara, blush, clear gloss since her lips were already pink, blue eyeshadow, yellow accents.

Berserk was wearing a less intricate outfit. A crimson shoulder strap dress with a flowy skirt that reached just below her knees, and a pair of 3-inch heeled ankle boots. Instead of the usual mane of red hair going all over the place in a wild fashion tied back in a ponytail with a bow, Brat and I had tamed the beast and woven a few of her long red ribbons into a thick braid that just about reached the back of her knees, with a loose tie at the top letting four ribbon ends drape down like streamers. Berserk had also settled for only wearing the jewelry that her boy-toy had gotten her. A pair of earrings, a ring, a watch, and one of those weird armlet things and a metallic purse. All of which were bronze, with pale pink gemstones. The whole outfit seemed to emphasize the accessories. Lastly, Berserk’s makeup was rosy pink blush and light brown eyeshadow to cover up her freckles, and pink lipstick.

I was wearing a black halter dress, with a drape like skirt that hung past my knees and slit up the right side to my mid thigh and showed a bit of leg. To accessorize I added a pine green spike studded belt to my waist and matching green spiked bracelets to my wrists, fishnet stockings, and my least beat up pair of combat boots. Unfortunately I didn’t have a necklace to throw in, but hey I had to look at the bright side. I got the swelling in my eye and my lip to go down, and managed to cover up both bruises. Morgue makeup could cover up anything. I still had to kick the makeup up a notch though. I didn’t dare add blush. The only shade’s we had in the house were far too...colorful. I’d risk looking like a party clown if I ever came in contact with the stuff. No color, just flawless white, and several shades of grey eyeliner, ranging from charcoal, to silver to give a smokey look. I even combed my hair down. Since I’ve got a pixie cut, I usually don't have to do anything with it. I usually just let it do what it does, or occasionally spike it to crazed levels. Tonight I combed it down, to a tamer level...Plus I tied a bandana around my arm to cover up my stitches.

In other words we were all wearing the best outfits we had. And we were dressed for completely the wrong occasion.

“Hey, hey.” I heard Berserk say as she snapped her thumb close to my face.

“What?” I asked as I went back to examining everybody else.

“You're getting that look on your face again.” Berserk stated.

“Am not.” I growled, only half listening.

“Oh really?” Berserk asked as she herded us to the entrance. Brat was too swept up with everything to really psy attention to anything. “Just try to enjoy this. For me?”

I let my face drop, and tried to look more excited. I knew what face she was referring to. Every now and then, I got this default scowl, that somehow turned into a perma-glare.

“Do we have to go in?” I grumbled.

“Yes we do!” Brat practically sang. “I thought you liked parties?”

“Not this type.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Berserk reasoned.

“We’re under dressed.” I half growled.

“We look fine.” Brat said nonchalantly.

“We look like high class hookers.”

“High class is high class.” Berserk laughed.

“Oh, well don’t I feel like the broad of the ball?” I said and put my hand to my chest dramatically.

“That’s the spirit!” Berserk said and ushered us in line.

The whole time waiting in line Brat gushed about how fancy this was, and how lucky we were, and how most girls would kill to attend something like this, and how she was going to rub it in the other girls at work’s faces when she got back to work on monday. She had to take the night off from work to attend, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Berserk the whole time just had this knowling passive look like she was used to all of this by now, but still happy to be here. I think she was amused by our reactions to this place. Even before we got in I could feel the other people around looking at us and judging us. I caught one lady pointing us out. I glared and flipped her off. An old habit, I tried to stear clear of, but...That was the most flustered, red faced, and embarrassed look I had ever gotten outta someone. An evil grin spread on my face.

“What is it?” Berserk asked.

“Y’know, being a party crasher might not be so bad.” I concluded. Berserk just rolled her eyes, and Brat snickered. A few more people and we were next in line to this joints poor excuse of a bouncer. He was short, mostly bald, and dressed like a butler. standing behind a podium a little too tall for him. I almost laughed when I saw his thin mustache. The short butler looked at us with disdain. I could see it in his eyes. Who let the riff raff in? That’s what he’s thinking. My brow twitched and my lip threatened to curl. But Brat didn’t seem to care, and Berserk took control of the situation.

“I’m sorry, this is not a public event-” The guy started.

“No, I’m sorry, but we are on the list.”

“I do not believe so, I do not see your names on the list.”

“Hey, buddy we didn’t give you any names.” I growled. Berserk put her hand up to stop me.

“Brute--”

“He doesn’t even have a list.” I argued, and gestured to the podium, which had nothing placed on it.

“Brute. I will handle it.” Berserk said like she wasn’t worried at all. She turned back to the butler who had an impassive look.

“Now sir. I believe this is what you are looking for.” Berserk said as she whipped out a dark red envelope from her purse and handed it to the man. I raised a brow and crossed my arms. I’d seen Berserk reading those and hoarding them in her room since she started “dating” this guy. Up until now I’ve had little interest in finding out what they were. He snatched it out of her hand with an expression so sour I could probably smell it.

“I’ll have you know miss, I don’t take kindly to bribes, if tha...t’s...” He stopped mid sentence as he read whatever was in the little red envelope. The color drained from his face as he went slack jawed.

“I-I-I-Ahem! So sorry for the inconvenience miss, go right on ahead.” The butler scrambled. Berserk gave an affirmative nod and stepped in the front door with the same something all of these ritsy rich people had and acted like she owned the place.

“Hahahah! Did you see his face!” Brat beamed. “He looked terrified!”

“...Who the hell are you dating?!” I awed. Berserk just snickered.

“You’ll meet him soon enough.”

 

The first floor of the building was styled like an art studio, to act as a sort of welcoming area to inspire conversation as people passed through it. Then on the second floor was where a lot more of the mingling took place. Lots booths and tables, yet plenty of space to walk or stand in groups, if the need so took you. Through all that there were several people coming and going, holding food platters or wine bottles to offer people. I wasn’t quite sure what was on the third floor but as of now I was hoping it was something more interesting. Between Berserk searching the crowed and Brat trying to mingle, I felt like I was more or less bobbing and weaving my way through the crowed.

After a little longer. Berserk turned back towards Brat and I saying she had spotted him. It took some coaxing, but we managed to pry Brat from a couple of guys that she had been talking with. Even as we left some continued looking at her, and I think also Berserk an I. Freakin’ pigs.

Berserk eventually lead us back to the back corner of the room where a lavish table booth was set up. Sitting around the table were about five guys who seemed to be having a serious talk in hushed tones. As Berserk lead the pack further, I saw one of the younger ones head pop un and his expression change. Before we could even get over there he had dismissed and shooed three of the guys from the booth, and got up and out of it himself.

“Hey, you made it.” The guy called as he approached to greet Berserk. “I was starting to believe you weren’t coming.”

He gingerly took her hand and kissed the top of it. I could see from both of their expressions that he was doing so ironically, but they seemed to be wrapped up in eachothers presence none the less.

He wasn’t especially tall, average, but he was tall enough for Berserk if she wasn’t taller than him in those heels. His hair was red, and a little long to achieve the combed back suave look he was currently wearing. Most of the men tonight we're wearing some form of formal attire. Generally a suit, without the jacket. He was wearing the shebang with probably seventeen interlocking parts, most of which was black with bronze accents, just like Berserk, and a blood red tie dangled around his neck. As stunning, and handsome as this guy looked, the most intense part was his eyes. Crimson red. I had known for a while now that Berserk had a sugar daddy. Tonight I had found out just how much sugar he had, and had been wondering, how the two had come across each other. Now I knew.

I don’t think I’d ever say they had love at first sight, or any of that bullcrap. However I will say that my sister has red eyes. And growing and growing up with them had never been easy. More often than not it repelled people, but to look into someones eyes and see that on some level, even if you're completely different, that you're the same. All I can assume is finding a kindred spirit really can go far in someone's life. And if it’s gone as far as these two have, frankly that’s a one in a million chance.

I didn’t understand their relationship, but it worked for Berserk, and if it made her happy, then I didn’t care what she, or who she did. Just like with Brat’s job. She seemed to enjoy what she did, so who was I to take issue.

“Might’ve been able to meet up sooner if you’d actually told me where you were instead of wandering through the crowd for twenty minutes looking for a needle in a haystack.” Berserk commented. The gent in red raised a brow.

“Aw, that’s no fun.” He said and pulled her closer by her hand and spun her around so she was in his arms. She gave a smile and leaned in, a dreamy expression in her face. At this point I was positive neither of them were even aware of our presence. I tried to hold back a smirk and looked at Brat who had a large grin spread across her face. I bounced my eyes at her a few times, and she made a kissy face, and we both laughed. They still didn’t seem to notice us, so I cleared my throat. Still nothing. I gave Brat an incredulous look, which she returned. Brat flicked her wrist and held up a finger, then two, on three the both of us began to loudly exaggerate clearing our throats and coughing into our fists. Caught quite a few sneers with that. But it got the lovebirds to look up and stop craning their necks and crooning. Berserk looked slightly unamused, and the guys head popped up for the first time noticing us.

“Where are my manners? Who are these lovely ladies you’ve brought with you?” The guy said and stepped closer, still with Berserk in his arms, and stuck his right arm out to introduce himself.

“I am Brick Jojo.” He said and shook Brat’s hand.

“Hello, I am Brat.” She introduced. Brick looked taken aback by her name, as many people often are.

“What an unusual name.” He stammered. “I’m sorry, did you say your last name?”

“Ah, ah, Brick. No info, remember?” Berserk scolded. Brick got a carnivorous look on his face as he glanced at Berserk with an interesting grin. I didn’t know whether or not to laugh or gag at the exchanges between these two.

“Of course, what was I thinking.” He replied. An o’ so rare predatory look had taken over my sister. It was odd. I knew this side of my sister existed, but I really, really, had no interest in ever witnessing it first hand. Ever. Brat didn’t seem to mind, but I think she was just ecstatic about the idea of Berserk having a boy-toy to begin with. That, and finally meeting him. Brick then held his hand out to me.

“Brute.” I stated and took his hand.

“Charmed.” He stated. I had to admit, with this guys red eyes and subtle facial expressions, he some how managed to pull of suave and take it a level further to menacing. It was like being in the presence of a mobster, even if he didn’t say it, he was a powerful guy. He just had this way of looking at everything like a shark.

...A good match for my sister.

“Right, well. Shall we get settled in then Berserk?” He asked.

“No, I’d much rather stand here in these heels.” She replied. He chuckled and whispered something in her ear that brought a devious smirk to her face. Then, Brick lead us back to his booth, where another guy had been sitting back, enjoying the show. Brick sat in the middle with Berserk sitting rather close on his right, the other man sitting to his left, Brat sitting next to him, and myself next to Berserk.

The other man introduced himself similar to how Brat and I had. Just his name, lest he accidentally Berserk anymore info about Brick than she needs, heaven forbid. Boomer. His name was Boomer. He was dressed similar to Brick, only that he was dressed a little sloppy, and not as fancy, and had blue and white accents. I couldn’t tell his height on account of being seated at a table, but he had dirty blonde hair which had been combed and tamed to fall with a sort of wavy if-Fabio-had-way-shorter-hair look. I didn’t really see the charm in it, but Brat seemed to be eating it up.

For the most part, conversation was a bit on the casual side. Couldn’t talk about work, or home, or anything. It mostly involved chit-chat and being entertaining. Making fun of everyone else in the room as mature adults often do. Between the primal way Berserk and Brick acted around each other, sending out subtle messages and such, and the way Brat chose not to notice how Boomer was shaking in his skin under Brick’s watchful eye,, how he itched himself every thirty seconds and instead just oggled the boy, I didn’t really know what to do with myself.

Eventually conversation died down. Brat and Boomer excused themselves to go...get punch ‘er something. Brick and Berserk seemed to be in their own little world, with her half sitting in his lap. I didn’t even wanna know what was going on under the table. I took it as my out to leave and ‘do whatever’ as Berserk had put it.

I wandered around the large party room for a bit. I tried all the food samples, until the thought of food was unappealing. Making people uncomfortable quickly lost it’s charm. I noticed that Brick and Berserk had disappeared, and Brat was attracting a lot of attention. More like bawd of the ball. Without much more to do I headed up to the third floor. It may have only been the third floor, bust with how high the ceilings were, it was about the same height as a six, maybe seven story building. Made me wonder what sadistic fuck had designed this putrid structure. Once at the top I found it to be much smaller. Between the kitchen, and other storage rooms, there was a bar built in the top. I assume this general floor served other purposes, like smaller parties. At the moment it seemed to be where the staff and some of the more drinkier guests were hanging out.

I barely walked up to the bar and caught sight of the menu before realizing you had to pay, and the cheapest thing offered were the pretzels, and they were too pricy. With a scoff of disapproval I walked away. I noticed on the wall opposite the stairs was a door leading out to a balcony. It wasn’t a bad place to hunker down. Sure it was windy, but it was quiet. Going over to the railing, I took in the scenery. The balcony was facing away from the city, and into the forrest. I think there might’ve been a trail leading to a park somewhere out there. It was dark, but I could still see the outline of oldtown Townsville. If everything was lit with candle light, I figured it wouldn’t look so dead this time of night.

“Hello there.” A low voice grumbled to my right. I looked over to see a guy, maybe a few years older than me leaning against the rail a little further down. “Haven’t gotten many people out here tonight.”

He had probably a foot of height on me. Dark hair was kept under a black short billed hat. He had on a green shirt that read in typewriter font Whisky Tango Foxtrot. The nato phonetic words for wtf. Bellow that he had on loose fitting fake camo cargo pants and and black leather boots, and a single black leather glove on his left hand. He may have also been wearing dog tags on a chain. I couldn’t tell what the color of his eyes were, but even with the cap on I could see they held a sly mischievous glint in them.The smirk on his face wasn’t helping either.

“Haven’t been many war zones around tonight either. Aren’t you a little military for this?” I responded. He scoffed.

“Aren’t you a little too sexy for this?” He said and looked me up and down with a smirk. I wrinkled my nose. “If I’m gonna get drug off to one of these things, I sure as hell ain’t gonna dress like one of the stiffs.”

“I get that. Not your crowd?” I asked, deciding I didn’t hear his first comment. His face dropped a little, and he shrugged.

“Not really.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Hiding up here, and waiting for it to get over with.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this guy. I didn’t know him, but he seemed familiar. He had one of those expressive faces. The ones you couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but you knew they always were. The ones that always looked like they were planning something…

“Hm.” I eyed him suspiciously. He seemed to notice this and snicker.

“I’m Butch Jojo by the way.”

“Is your brother Brick?”

“One of ‘em, yeah. Why?” He asked. I shrugged.

“I just met him downstairs about an hour ago.”

“Typical. What’d you say you're name was?” He asked with a raised brow.

“I didn’t.” I stated. He quirked his head back a little. Then took a few steps closer.

“Yeah. I realized that. That’s why I tried to ask nicely.” Again, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There was something off with this. I’m not sure what, but something just didn’t feel right. Yet, not so much that I felt the need to leave.

“Brute.” I said curtly.

“Come again?” He hummed.

“Brute.”

“Hm...Fitting.”

“What’s wrong, can’t come up with a good pick up line?” I asked. He gave a casual shrug.

“I’d give you a pick up line, but you look to fancy for that.” He paused, then smirked playfully. “...That’s why I have roofies.”

When my expression shifted to surprise, he started to cackle a bit. I joined in realizing he was joking.

“Then again, you're probably the least fancy person here, so I’ll think up a better one later.”

“Pfft, I’m pretty sure you're the least fancy person here.” I pointed out. He snorted.

“That’s fair. I’ll be waiting on your pick up line when you think up one.”

“Sorry, the only pick up lines I know that have to do with ‘Butch’ aren’t guy friendly.” This exerts a full on cackle from Butch. He had an infectious laugh, but his grin was still somewhat eerie. Not quite scary, or creepy...But just a sly grin…

“They don’t sound very girl friendly either.” He responded. I snickered.

“Alright, you got me there.”

We conversed like this for hours, just killing time. It wasn’t bad. We talked, but never really shared. Mostly just joked around. He had a twisted sense of humor, which I found amusing, and a kind of cute for him. Occasionally he would press for more personal information, but I never gave any and he would drop it. I suppose it was because I never asked anything about him as well. I didn’t particularly care, I’d never seen him before in my life, and probably never would again after. Excuse me to hell, but learning someone's life story seemed pointless if you’re probably going to forget their face in a few weeks. Still though. He didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t curious about him, but he seemed curious about me. I’m not sure why. Dry indifference had never been alluring before.

I didn’t particularly feel creeped out, or in danger, but something just seemed a little weird with him. Maybe a little off. It was probably nothing, I probably just wasn’t used to him, and it was just how he was. He had the same sort of intimidating air about him as his brother, but his was different. Brick was intimidating because he held power. He probably had several ties in not so light places, with not so light people, and probably was involved in not so light activities, and he knew this. Butch was intimidating in a different way...A way I couldn’t put my finger on.

I didn’t really notice a change until after a few hours of being in his company. He started out at a distance when we first started talking. Eyes burrowing into me, watching what I did, and listening to my words. Not quite examining, but something about the the unreadable sly expression just made it feel odd. After a while he had gradually gotten closer until we were both sitting next to each other on the floor of the outdoor balcony. Along the way the sly look had been dropped, to something a bit more genuine had replaced it. He also stopped continuously staring at me. Only when I wasn’t looking. He’d try to look anywhere else than me, then the second he thought I wasn't paying attention, I’d feel his eyes drift back. I thought it was odd, but didn’t really think about it.

We talked up until I felt my phone going off in my purse.

“Hm? Hang on a minute, I’m getting a call.” I excused. He pushed his hand through the air to gesture it was fine. I looked down at my phone. It was Berserk. I hit speak.

“Is that a Nokia?” Butch asked. I waved him off to get him to be quiet.

“Yeah?” I greeted.

“Where’ve you been? I’m done here, Brat’s getting a cab.” Berserk replied, though it was hard to hear her with everything in the background.

“Done with Brick already?” I asked. Butch raised a brow in question, but I continued to focus on the phone call.

“It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve been gone four hours. Find something to occupy your time with?”

“Someone!” Butch called over my shoulder.

“What was that?” Berserk quickly asked as I scolded Butch.

“Nothing! Nothing.” I growled, more to Butch than to my sister.

“Whatever, just get to the street unless you want to get your own cab. EIther way, we’re heading out.” Berserk responded. I scoffed.

“Don’t be a bitch, I’ll be right down, make the driver wait.” And with that Berserk hung up, and I stood from the ground.

“Heading out?” Butch asked.

“Yep.”

“But you don’t have to?” He asked. I looked back and gave him a questioning look. “You could always get your own cab.”

“You know it’s rude to listen to other people’s phone calls.” I responded. He laughed.

“So is yelling into the phone, I could hear whoever that was clear as day.”

“...Once again, I suppose you got me there.”

“So stay longer.” Butch pressed.

“Nah, it’s cheaper to carpool.”

“I’ll pay the faire.” He offered. At this point I had already been making my way down the stairs to the second floor, with Butch following closely. I let out a sigh.

“Dude, no. I’m leaving.”

“Oh, c’mon, just stay a little later.” He insisted.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s gonna be so boring after you leave.” My companion of the night whined. I laughed.

“Then why don’t you leave? It’s pretty goddamn late, I’m sure no one will care if people leave.” I reasoned. He raised a brow and that sly look returned.

“Then how am I supposed to give you that pickup line?” He said and wiggled his brows. I snorted.

“Well, you’ve got till I get in the cab to figure that out.”

“Is that a challenge?” He looked a little amped up when he said that. I gave a neutral answered and shrugged.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” He asked once more, sounding hopeful but resigned.

“Newp.”

“Can I get your number before you go?”

“I don’t know it by heart.” I immediately responded. I felt him grab my arm and stop me. I turned around with a neutral expression. I didn’t know what he had stopped for, but I really didn’t want somthing to start. I tried to avoid what I could these days. When I turned around his expression held some amusement, but clearly he wasn’t happy.

“Okay, that is thee most bullshit excuse, that everybody uses. The only time that can even be considered valid, is if they have a new phone, and even then almost all phones nowadays have their own number programmed in them. And don't even try to say you're phone’s new cuz’ I ain’t seen a flip phone like that in ten years.” He leveled. I raised my brows.

“I could’ve just changed the number.” He raised a brow, still with that damned sly grin.

“You're concerned about cab faire and you’ve got a goddamned nokia. I don’t even think they make those anymore. No way in hell have you paid to get a number changed. You’d sooner get rid of the phone.” He explained. I scowled. I didn’t like how inquisitive he was getting.

“Y’know, I’m putting up with a lot more shit from you than I do with other people, let alone strangers.” And I don’t know why…

“It’s all part of the charm.” He winked.

“...My phone’s not that old.” I weakly defended.

“It’s a goddamn rhinoceros.” He replied. I doubled back.

“What?...You mean dinosaur?”

“Yeah. Wait, what’d I say?”

“Rhinoceros.” As soon as it clicked in his head that sly look was dropped for a moment as started cackling and smacked himself in the forehead.

“Hahahah, whoops.” He laughed. I couldn’t help but join in. I don’t know how, but he kept changing the mood of the conversation. It was almost bipolar how quickly it kept changing. Then he was right back at it.

“If you won’t give me your number, can I at least give you mine?”

“You're really intent on this aren’t you?” He nodded. “Dude, you don’t even know me. What’s your hangup?”

“Exactly. I don’t know you. We’ve been talking all night, and you haven't said a word about who you are. Where you come from, family, nothin’. You haven’t even told me your last name.” Apparently he hasn’t taken the hint. “...But, I’d like to get to know you. And I don’t know how that’s gonna happen if there isn’t any contact.”

“Okay. Let’s say I agree. Are you going to tell me about yourself too?” I asked with a somewhat cocky air. He got a wry smile.

“Maybe someday...”

I reciprocated the smile. I figured he play it that way. That made my decision easier.

“Good bye Butch.” I said and continued down the stairs numberless.

“No number, no name. Will you at least leave me a shoe, ‘er something?” He called. I had to stop and process that I was still on the staircase before I realized he had just made a Cinderella joke. I snorted and shook my head, then just kept going to ground level, then the entrance, and finally outside where I found Berserk standing outside a cab, with Brat inside chatting with the driver. There was a new bronze locket dangling from her neck proudly.

“Alright, lets get the hell outta here.” I said as I approached. Berserk didn’t even look at me, but leaned back to look past me.

“Who’s your friend?” She asked. I barely knit my brow and turned around, with no surprise, I found Butch’s dark silhouette standing just inside the colossal entrance. I rolled my eyes.

“Give me a minute.” I said as started back over.

“Oh, no you don’t. We’ve gotta go, the cab’s already been waiting.”

“Then he can wait one more minute.” I growled and walked off. Butch took a few steps back before I got up there, like he was surprised I had come back. Or seen him.

“What d’you want, Butch?” I asked. He looked a little caught off guard, which I chose to ignore. There was a lot of weird things he did that I chose to ignore. Small, but weird all the same.

“Just...wanted to say goodnight.” He said. I raised a brow, shifted my stance and crossed my arms.

“Alright.” I said. After a moment of silence he stuck his arm out to shake. I didn’t completely know what to make of the formal farewell, but the corners of my mouth curled slightly anyways. I took his hand and shook it a little. His hands were really warm. Firm.

“Once again, goodbye Butch.” I said. He didn’t let go of my hand. He just kept holding it; eyes burrowing through me.

“We’ll, keep in touch...I’ll see you soon. I’ll make sure of it.” He muttered. I couldn’t see his face well in the lighting, but assumed he had that mocking smile spread across his face.

“Hahah, I didn’t think you were going to pull off a creepy pick up line before I left. I haven’t thought up a good one yet. ” I laughed. His head cocked back slightly to reveal his expression between impassive and confused. Then the signature grin slowly crept back on his face, looking menacing in the light.

“...Right. Well, I’ll be waiting for that.” He responded. Not a moment passed before it was prematurely interrupted by the cab’s horn honking abruptly. I couldn’t see inside through the dark windows but assumed it was Brat that had honked the horn, or at least told the cabbie to.

“Seriously I gotta go. Bye Butch. Wasn’t a bad night.” I said and departed to the car.

Butch didn’t respond, but I didn’t hear him move to leave. I could just tell he was watching me though. It was probably the outfit. I’d never gotten this much attention from someone before. It was weird. I got in the car, and sure enough his silhouette was still standing in the doorway. At some point he either slinked away, or the cab was just too far for me to see him, but either way he was out of sight. Brat talked for most of the drive about how she had spent her time, who with, and what happened. Berserk was more interested than I was, but I humored her anyway and pretended to be listening; all the while looking out the window past her, zoning out. Honestly it wasn’t bad, but an altogether forgettable night.

“Brute!” I heard Brat call. Ah hell, what’d she say?

“Really? Wow. I don’t even know what to say about that.” I responded hoping it sounded like I had listened. Brat didn’t continue talking like I had hoped, but Berserk chuckling was enough to rouse my attention. Brat was glaring.

“What?” I shrugged.

“She asked what you did the whole time.” Berserk echoed. Neither Brat nor I would dare ask Berserk what she had done the whole time, so of course attention would land on me. Berserk most likely wouldn’t tell us what really happened. Didn’t matter. We could pretty much figure out what Berserk had done the whole time, and it wasn’t anything we really wanted to know about. T’was all in the math. Messy hair and smudged makeup.

“I bummed around the third floor killing time on the balcony. I would’ve gotten a drink and bugged the staff party but those hoity toity bastards were charging out the ass.”

“Well, it’s not like it was pricy for them.” Brat shrugged.

“Yeah, well…” I said. Brat giggled.

“How about that guy at the door? That how you killed time?” Berserk teased. I rolled my eyes. “ Who was he?”

I had to think carefully before I answered. If I were to say Butch Jojo, that would be a dead give away he had some sort of relation to Brick. And if I had to bet, all hell would break loose if Berserk knew something about Brick other than his name, his wealth, and his girth. God forbid she actually knew something about the dude she was screwing and break the illusion they both weren’t crazy. Aside from that, I really didn’t know what to say. Other than his name, I didn’t have any other info; and as far as I knew, he only knew my first name. Hell I didn’t even know how to describe him.

“I don’t really know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before this chapter gets started off, I'd just like to say that there is some insensitivity on Brute's part which can be very offensive to people, especially those working in an occupation like hers. If anyone finds this offensive, I apologize, that is not my intent. There is actual method to this madness so bare with it and one day a chapter will be posted that'll tie up any loose ends.
> 
> Also, hate to do it to you, but this chapter is mostly plot related. Enjoy.

 

It had been about three days since Berserk had drug me and Brat off as her slutty wing girls. Just to clarify, for the most part we weren’t dressed badly. But compared to the highbrow attire of the rest of the people there, we definitely looked trashy. Which is how Berserk aroused her sort-of-not-really boyfriend, Brat got the attention of just about every guy in there, and I ended up with an equally out of place admirer.

It had only been a few days, but I hadn’t really thought about that night, or the night before, until running into one of my new friends. As per my nightly ritual I headed over to the CinnaBar before work and got a bite to eat. I enjoyed a nice solitary cinnamon roll, complementary of Rodrick for being a regular and watching out for the bar. Considering I worked all night, and slept half the day, getting out of the house every night was nice. Even if I hardly ever uttered a word to anyone.

I was seated at my usual spot. The small table in loft, left corner next to the railing overlooking the bar. It was a wednesday night, not a particularly busy crowd, just the usual alcoholics and bums. It could go either way, between tame and rowdy. I saw some men swaying on their stools, and women I recognized from corners not far from here unwinding in the booths, or drinking before hand in preparation for a long night. Nothing particularly interesting, but it was easy to zone out watching no one in particular. It was sort of serene. Wait a second. One guy  was trying to dance despite the lack of music playing. I think he might’ve been humming to himself. Now that was a show.

I noticed someone coming up the loft, I didn’t think anything of it until all at once I saw movement out the corner of my eye and someone sitting down in the vacant seat across from from me. I looked ahead to find none other than Buttercup. She was wearing what looked like an exercise outfit, but given how late it was I think she just had that sort of style. Or rather, what she felt comfortable in. I could respect that. I didn’t like wearing things like sweatpants and yoga pants in public. It felt like I was wearing pajamas and the way the wind blew through them was uncomfortable. I just felt like a lazy dresser. But at home nothing was more comfortable than being in a tank top, underwear and nothing else. But, nudity wasn’t really accepted in public.

I had looked over just as she was plopping down and caught glimpse of green shorts, lighter than I preferred for myself but more suited for her than the dark shades I chose, a black t-shirt, and a white hood less running jacket. Her hair wasn’t pulled back in a ponytail this time I didn’t have time to hide my surprise at seeing her again, as all thoughts of that night were gone within the next day. Though, I didn’t have a very expressive face. All she would’ve seen, if anything, were raised eyebrows on a relatively vacant face.

“Heh, I was wondering if you’d be back here again.” She greeted.

“Hm, two visits to the shadier side of Townsville in a week? You didn’t come by just to see me did you?” I inquired. She chuckled.

“Haha, so what if I did? Besides, I like this place, and it’s not like I’m heading out to Vilestown.” She joked. I cringed a little and choked on my water a little bit, but to her it must’ve looked like I had started to laugh and choke on the water. I’m completely aware of how bad the area I lived in, and how dangerous the town is. But, damn it’s still irritating whenever someone pokes fun at those facts. It’s still home.

“Heheh, yeah…” I trailed off. She didn’t know where I lived, and people from Townsville often poked fun at the bordering town. I was used to it, but still. They never seemed to notice, but they almost always seemed to take it for granted how even the shadiest parts of their home town was better than the safest parts on mine. My apartment was situated somewhere in the middle of it all. It wasn’t in the worst area of Vilestown, but it certainly wasn’t in the best.

“No Vodka this time I see.” Buttercup observed with a cocky smile. “Should I buy a round?”

“Pfft, are you kidding.” I scoffed. “Do you see the people getting drunk on Wednesday nights?” I said and gestured over the railing. Both of us took a moment to watch at the man dancing by himself, who had now taken his shirt off and was humming loud enough to sort of hear it from here.

“Okay...Then what’re you doing here?” She asked.

“Cinnamon roll.” I stated, not taking my eyes off the man.

“...Alright.” The conversation was starting to drag.

“...I can’t look away.” I apologized. It was probably a little rude not to look at her, but damn this drunk could dance. Buttercup snorted none the less.

“Best DD I’ve witnessed.” She admitted.

“No way in hell is that guy a designated driver.”

“No,” She said shaking her head. “Drunk Dancer.” She clarified. I rolled my eyes.

“Wow, you find that on urban dictionary?” I said finally looking back at her.

“I published it!” She said.

“That figures.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Was it?” I deadpanned. Buttercup gave me a hard look. I raised a brow with a slight smirk. Goading her. The look she was giving me was intense. I think it was supposed to intimidate me. Make me crack into telling her the intent of the comment. I wiggled my brow and she leaned back in her seat. When she cracked a smile I knew she had dropped it.

“Alright, that guy stripping on the table aside, lets get a round. Seriously, I’ll buy this time.” She offered.

“Heh. As tempting as that sounds I gotta drive to work in twenty.” Buttercup looked surprised.

“Jesus, you got a graveyard shift?” Heh. You could say that.

“In a way, yeah.” I shrugged.

“So when do you get off?” She asked. I gave her a semi serious look.

“Wow. Skippin’ the drink and going straight in for the kill, huh?”

“Wait, wha-”

“Alright, you wore me down. First I start with the handcuffs and the tape--”

“No, no, no, you perv I was talking about when you get off work.” Buttercup laughed. I smirked.

“So was I. First I unlock my handcuffs, then I go over the tape with the director, and given how long that takes, my hours very.” I deadpanned. Buttercup gave me a half amused, half somewhat shocked look as she tried to figure out if I was joking or not.

“You’re lying.” She finally decided. I raised my palms in the air and leaned back in my seat.

“Ahh, you caught me. That’s good...You’re learning.” I chuckled. “I generally get off around three, and don’t get home until after four. So don’t hold out any hope of catching me after work. Or any time before noon really.”

“Oh no. I was hoping to go out for breakfast. Whatever will I do with my life now?” Buttercup said in a very sarcastic tone. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine.

“I know. Trust me, it won’t get better. Dream crushing is what I do. Literally, it’s my job, and I’m damn good at it.” I said in a fake concerned tone and comfortingly stroked the top of her hand. We stared into each other's eyes until neither of us could hold a straight face and we broke apart laughing.

“Well now I wanna know what you really do.”

“Mortuary cosmetician.”

“...What?”

“I put makeup on dead people.”

“...Goddamn.” A reaction I often got when no one knew what else to say after that. It tended to kill conversations. Then again, I very seldom put a professional spin on what I do.

With some discomfort successfully placed in our vibe, I glanced at the time on my phone, parted from Buttercup, and headed out. As I passed the bar and headed out the door I gave a nod and a wave to Rodrick. The only form of acknowledgement I got were his eyes following me while he cleaned the counter as I went out the front door. He didn’t even face my direction. That was Rodrick for you. A few blocks away I found my car. I’d had one too many instances with drunks fucking up my car, or puking all over it to park on the same block.

An old black hearse. It didn’t have much left on it for mileage, and was just getting a little too old for carting coffins the long distances it took to reach the graveyards that bordered Townsville and Vilestown. At the time I had been given my job, there was only one car between Berserk, Brat and myself. Berserk had a day job at the time, which made things easier, but Brat and I having similar hours in two different towns made things a bit more difficult.

I showed up to work late, almost every night, and Brat’s shitty car rarely made the trip back and forth without having some sort of malfunction. At the time, we really didn’t have much money to spare. It ended up being cheaper to drive ourselves instead of taking taxi’s. I needed this job. I’m not sure if I had somehow let the desperation to keep the job slip through to the surface, or if they took pity on my situation, or both, but they had an old hearse in the garage, which had broken down a few times under the weight of transporting coffins. They kept it in reserve for cases when they were short on transport and needed an extra chariot.

I didn’t like taking handouts, nor did I particularly like the fact that I seemed pitiful enough for them to offer me the old car. But, I had recently started to see how...humbled our life had gotten. I still chuckle to this day with nostalgia at the way they had offered me the vehicle.

“It’s a little old, and starting to break under the weight on the caskets, but it still runs nicely.” Mr.Slator had started. Scratching the back of his neck. “It’s still in good shape. Leather’d just been redone. It’s been a with the company for years, it’d just be such a shame to retire the old gal, y’know? Just breaks my heart.” I started getting a little suspicious of what he was getting at, at this point. “We keep it just in case we might need it one day. If any of the other breaks down for good, or if we need an extra on a busy day. Problem is, you can’t just leave a car sitting there. Especially an old one. You need to take’em around the block every now and then, or they won’t start up again.” I figured out what he was getting at and tried to deter this kind offer, finding it uncomfortable to accept. I stated that, being barely 16, I wasn’t a very experienced driver, and wouldn’t want anything to happen to a company vehicle, let alone one they obviously had such sentimental value for. Mrs.Slator joined in now.

“Even better, you need to get more experience and what better for that than an old used car? Nowadays you kids keep getting new cars the second you get registered to drive and what happens? It gets wrecked and scratched and what looked so pretty now looks ruined. Twenty years ago a first vehicle was already old and scratched, and no one cared what happened to it. They were practice cars for the new ones so you knew how to take care of them…”

She went on about how getting a brand new car as you're first was just irresponsible, and a waste of money as if you wreck a used car, it’s no big deal, but even scratch a new car it needs to be fixed asap. I got the gist of what they were both getting at though. You need a car, we have an old one in perfectly good condition which is going unused, and we don’t care how trashed it gets. Just keep it alive, or it’ll go to the junk yard anyway.

I finally swallowed my pride and accepted, saying I would work to pay it off. They just laughed and told me that if the day ever came that they needed to enlist the old hearse, I would have to drive it. I accepted. There isn’t a whole lot of people out there I’ve ever needed or relied on, but I owe everything to the Slators.

After a twenty minute drive I reached work, parked the car and entered the building. Inside Duke, a co-worker, was seated at the front desk, kicked back legs on the desk and slumped back just about falling asleep. I pointedly close the door breaking the crisp silence. He flinches and glares in my direction.

“Slow day?” I ask.

“We received two deceased.” He growled.

“Mourners?”

“They’ve already left.” I didn’t even give him a nod that I’d heard him and went downstairs to what I light heartedly referred to as The Dungeon. I heard him cough “Heartless” as I went. Duke and I didn’t exactly get along. He took his job very seriously, and didn’t take too kindly to my...desensitized approach to it all. It pissed him off on a regular basis. It pissed a lot of people (Co-workers) off really, but most had gotten used to how I did the job. I’m pretty sure Duke hates me. Fine by me, he’s a prick anyway.

In all honesty, I think I really just tended to freak people out. It’s a grim business, taken seriously, and done by professionals. None of that was me. The dead didn’t bother me. I couldn’t put it into words, but they didn’t. I knew they used to be people, or still were, but at the same time they weren’t, and never were. I goofed off every now and then, wasn’t afraid to crack jokes in the right presence. It’s for the best that I work in The Dungeon, and not with the mourners. I’d never try to be funny or unprofessional, I tried to assure my co-workers, but when push comes to shove I don’t know how to deal with them. I’d never comforted a person in my life and would probably come off as uncaring and cold. I feel sorry, I really do. It just doesn’t reflect on the surface.

The morgue had three levels. The front of the first level, ground level, was neat and decorated and “nicer” in general for the mourners, I suppose so it wouldn’t all seem so scary. It was technically the actual funeral home part of the morgue. There were other rooms in the level that contained caskets, and urns and other necessities for preparation kept away from the mourners until they were ready for that part. The second level was smaller, it was the level where the deceased were stored, prepped, etc. Luckily I didn’t see to many mourners down there. There was a separate room for where I worked, from where they identified and did what mourners do. The second underground level was the hearse garage, where we kept, you guessed it, several miniature giraffes.

Down in The Dungeon I found two bodies fully cleaned and prepped waiting patiently under sheets on tables with neat piles of clothing placed nearby. On the desk on the other end of the room I found the clip board with what I needed to know/do. No signs of disease, one male, one female, they need to be dressed, yadda yadda yadda. Near the end of the paperwork however, was something out of the usual. The male had bruising along his neck in need of covering up. I heaved a sigh. Cause of death: Suicide.

It’s not like people dying was news, it was a natural part of life. It was just harder to ignore when the death itself wasn’t natural. It stirred memories I had for the most part blocked out. Clad in a sterilized white coat and gloves up to my elbows. I worked on the female first. She was old, late eighties I believe, maybe nineties. Those were the only features I cared to notice. It probably wouldn’t be healthy to make a point of remembering anything in particular. Whatever. I set to work and after dressing her and fucking with the lighting so I could actually do the makeup right, I finished up in almost two and a half hours.

With a grimace I slumped backward and faced the inevitable. I still had to fix up the male. I didn’t really want to. Usually, I’d be fine but...Duke that prick should’ve called Raven in. Speaking of which I could hear him starting to shut everything down for the night. His shift was now over. Seemed like a good time to take a short break, and not avoid working at all. What better way of slacking off, and wast-passing time, and not procrastinating than turning to the internet.

Back on the far end of the room on the desk stood a computer. It wasn’t very new, it was slow and outdated by at least five years. Don’t get ahead of yourself, it still had a flat screen, it ain't that old. This ain't courage the cowardly dog.

It was kept as a means of digital storage of records and files. Plenty of paperwork had to be transported digitally and printed up here and there. When I wasn’t painting people, my job consisted of sorting files, physical and otherwise, cleaning up, making things tidy for the day workers, etc. Though, this was generally to keep myself busy when I didn’t have anything else to do, which still counted as working. I’m lazy, I’m not a slacker. The night was young and it didn’t seem like there was much tidying or files to deal with. Just the two stiffs.

Times like this I turned to social media. I was never particularly interested in social media, given that I had never been very social, nor did I have the means of getting to it before my job, but late nights brought me to them like a mosquito to a bug lamp. I checked facebook for the first time in about a month, went through the notifications, looked at post for about a minute, then got bored and went to tumblr. I had a new follower. unmedicatedbutcher is now following brutalexecutioner.

Nothing else was new. I looked at the clock. It was almost eleven, and I didn’t have anything else to do or check online. I was already bored with the interwebs and shut’er down. I heard the crinkle and shift in the fabric of my white coat and gloves a lot clearer than usual as I approached the male. I raised my arms to pull the sheet away but froze. I thought hard for a moment about calling someone else to come in. we had a few other employees trained in cosmetology, but that wasn’t their regular job. In other words they weren’t as good. Couldn’t quite paint the life back right. I grit my teeth and shook those thoughts aside. My fingers twitched in tension as if my mental preparation had transferred to hands. As if my hands were trying to prep my mind as well saying let’s do this! Yeah! Yeah, are we ready? Yeah, we’re ready! Let’s do this! Go! Go! Go! Like a couple of football players that’d pounded a few too many Redbulls before a big game.

I pulled the sheet back. Adult male, mid thirties, maybe late twenties, dark hair, square face, crooked nose, strong jaw, and a thick muscular neck littered with purple bruising. I’m not sure how long I lasted staring at it wide eyes and not breathing before I sucked in a curt breath and looked away.

I’d gotten as good of a look as I needed. Deep bruising, wider than usual, scratches in his skin, could probably still find some residue under his fingernails, a byproduct of well...having second thoughts but not being able to rectify them. I still needed to cover that up however.

I dove back in for a second go. I gently placed my hands on his jaw to adjust so I could check the damage in the back and...that’s...also unusual. His neck wasn’t broke, not weird but uncommon given his size. The scratches on his neck would’ve already been an indicator of such, but still. The bruise also seemed...indirect. Not in a straight line. The angle of the bruising on the back of his neck...didn’t quite match the bruising in the front. It was possible for the rope to shift, especially if he was trying to free himself, and the bruise was thick enough for there to be some, but it wouldn’t’ve gotten that dark in two different spots. It wouldn’t’ve been able to go that deep in two different spots. And for that matter, it was quite a bit darker in the back than it normally would’ve-

“Fuck’n christ!” I announced and backed away once again. Calm down Brute. You’re in no way a professional, and you aren’t trained for this. You’re just over thinking it. This isn’t like…

I let out another breath and turned my attention back to the clip board. There was something else I was supposed to deal with on him, but for the life of me I can’t think of what it was. And now more than ever I need something else to do so I could clear my head and actually work on piecing it back together. One way or another I needed to cover that up and the sooner I could calm the hell down, the sooner I can get the fuck over my issue and function like someone who works for a living.

A tattoo. Right ankle. Needs to be covered.

My brow furrowed. Why cover an ankle tattoo? It’s not like an open cascettes gonna show off the ankle. I mean...Maybe if they opened the wrong end, but we actually clothe their bottom half unlike some places so...Not like it’ll be seen. It’ll probably just get covered up by a sock anyway. Whatever. I rolled my eyes and pulled the sheet off his feet to get a look at the bad boy.

“...Oh, fuck me.”

* * *

“...Hello?”

“Raven! Hey, how’s it goin’?” I greeted into the phone.

“...Sleeping.” Came the gruff response.

“Uh huh. I get that, yeah, I’m gonna need you to come down here.”

“Brute, It’s one in the morning on my day off, whatever it is it can wait.”

“No no! Don’t hang up, you wanna come down here.”

“Ugh...What?” She snapped.

“We got another stiff in here-”

“We’ve always got deceased, and stop saying things like that.”

“-and he’s getting picked up in the morning.”

“...”

“Ugh,” I groaned, “Do I have to spell all this out? Hey Raven, T-A-T-T-O-O.”

“...I’ll be there in twenty.”

* * *

“Alright, show me where.” Raven said as she trotted in fifteen minutes later.

She was tall, had dark brown hair, pale grey blue eyes, and a tired pale freckled face, in contrast to her parent’s the Slator’s, who were much more warm and inviting. Deep down I think Raven was a bit of a softy, but every time I saw her she was dead tired and not really in the most happy go lucky mood.

“What, no hi? If you're gonna be that rushed you should’ve kicked the door in.” I stated dryly as she shuffled over to the male. Raven looked tired, as she always did, when she looked at me.

“I didn’t come down here to chat, so just tell me where it is please.” She wasn’t playing around. She never did of course, which was why I got along with her better than my other co-workers. Raven didn’t like the my m.o. anymore than anyone else, but she was used to it and dismissed it more readily than others. We had similar personalities, but she was a slightly more strict with her regimen. WHich was exactly what brought out my more...playful side, for lack of better term.

“Yeah, yeah, right ankle.” I waved off. I was near computer desk rummaging through the drawers. Before Raven took a look at the ink she sort of double taked and looked back to me with a somewhat confused look.

“Wait, cleaning isn’t your job, how did you know he had a tattoo?”

“It was marked for coverup on the clipboard.” I said with a tap on said board.

“On the ankle? Covering an already covered blemish isn’t standard procee-”

“Hey, I thought it was weird too but it’s marked. Whoever came into claim him and fill out the forms must’ve requested it. Don’t know why, don’t particularly care. It’s his funeral.”

“...”

“Too soon?” I asked. Raven stared hard at me for a few more seconds, then turned her attention to the ankle tatt.

“Same as the others?” I asked after Raven took a good look at it.

“Yeah…” She stated and straightened up a bit from her hunched over stance.

Over the last few months Raven had noticed something she thought, a little odd. Raven was a primary worker. She was trained for just about everything that could legally be done to a body in a morgue, cleaning, embalming, even autopsy. Somewhere around five or six months ago, Raven started to notice an eerie coincidence. Matching tattoo’s. Normally tattoo’s weren’t a big deal, but younger people didn’t come through as often as many would think between the two cities. Some had tattoos, while others didn’t. Now, as I said before, recognizing features and remembering faces wasn’t something we did. I personally had a better time looking past the person on the table as, well, y’know, a person, but others didn’t always have it as easy. Raven had worked here for years, seen just about all you could, and looked through the people on the slab so naturally she often had a hard time remembering the faces of the living whenever they happened to pass through The Dungeon.

Coming across a tattoo often enough to recognize it? Even I gotta admit, that’s pretty weird. A series of tattoo’d stiff’s started coming in ranging from early twenties to mid forties from both genders. I didn’t really notice it, or take her seriously the first time she mentioned it, but I couldn’t really ignore the observation she’d pointed out. The next couple of tatt’s I found started matching up. I’m not saying I know what’s happening, I’m not saying I have any ideas, for all I know it’s all a coincidence. What I am saying is that it’s weird, and definitely something I’ve been keeping an eye on. In the very least, it’s interesting. Ten years from now I might reminisce about the time Raven and I found a bunch of matching tattoos for a few months and got weirded out.

Raven on the other hand, I think might actually have some ideas as to what’s been going on. I don’t know what she thinks is going on, but I have a few guesses, and not one of them sound like something I, or anyone else would ever want to get involved in.

I think Raven was a bit relieved when I told her I had noticed it too. She probably had thought she was starting to lose it. If she had mentioned her thoughts to me, she had probably mentioned it to other co-workers as well. So far I seem to be the only one to have noticed, so I try to keep her updated whenever I come across a tatt she might not’ve.

After finding what I was looking for I joined Raven by the male, now with a camera to document it. I handed her the clipboard so she could take a look.

“...It’s so weird.” She stated as I took a picture. It was a small but intricate tattoo. Almost like an emblem, or a seal of some kind. I didn’t know what it meant, but again, I didn’t particularly want to get involved. That kind of weird gang/cult shit was not for me.

“And uh…” I took a breath deciding if I should say something. “There’s something else.”

“Hm?” She hummed as she looked over the clipboard.

“Check out his neck.” I noticed Raven’s demeanor visibly change though she made no movement. Without a word she set down the clipboard and pulled the sheet back to reveal the bruising.

“Oh my God Brute…What are you doing here?! You should’ve called someone else to take care of this! No, forget that, someone else should’ve been called in instead, what was Duke thinking! Why didn’t you call me?!” Raven’s tone getting more exasperated as went. No doubt she had noticed that I had suddenly become very critical of my picture taking skills, as I just kept my zooming in and out on the tattoo which I had already taken a perfectly fine picture of.

“You need your sleep.” I shrugged. Raven was staring at me like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Knowing her, she’d probably seen what I was trying not to. Like how calm I felt, though I was unusually jittery. If she’d ask, I’d tell her it was because of the wound in my shoulder. I know she must’ve noticed that. Though, she’s smart enough not to comment on it openly. I’d have to be on leave for a bit if it was acknowledged. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t buy that anyway.

“Jesus Brute…”

“Whatever, just take a good look at it will you? Something seems off-”

“It doesn’t seem off you’re-” I snapped my gaze to Raven.

“I’m fine. Take a look at it.” I glared. I know exactly what she was going to say, but I was fine. Something was off with it. I then went into as best detail as I could to try and depict my findings, and what I found odd.  Raven had a concentrated scowl as she inspected.

“I’m going to have to have a word with Duke about-” She grumbled.

“Leave it be.” I sighed. It was beginning to be a very tiring night.

“Brute, we have these rules for a reas-.”

“I said I’m fine, Raven. If Duke’s gonna be a passive aggressive bitch at every possible chance, I can’t stop it without getting my paws dirty, but if I ignore it, well...That’ll drive him crazy.” I said with a small but evil grin spreading on my face.

“...I still think we need to have a talk.”

“Just drop it.”

“This is grounds to be fired, he deserves some kind of punishment.”

“So give him a shitty bonus or Start throwing out his lunches from the fridge, I don’t care.” I could feel Raven giving me a look. I faced her.

“I really, really, don’t give a fuck about anything that has to do with him so just drop it and tell me what you see!” I quipped. Raven dismissed me with her hand and continued her inspection.

“It is...a bit unlikely, but not impossible.” Raven admitted. “But, why am I confirming that?”

“I dunno, doesn’t it just seem a little…?” I trailed off. “Something about it just gives me the creeps.” Off. Something about it just seemed off. Raven gave me a concerned look.

“Brute, it’s not that-”

“I know Raven. I said I’m fine.” I said starting to get a bit exasperated.

“...I think you should go home. I’ll finish up here.” Raven stated. I stared for a while thinking hard before finally sighing and going over to take pictures of the bruises. For some reason it was easier to look at through the camera.

“...Yeah, alright.” Maybe she’s right. I probably should’ve just called her when I got here.

“Take it easy, alright? I’ll take care of the makeup.”

“Painting’s an art, make sure you do it right.” I called as I went over to the computer to shut it down. I thought I had earlier, but apparently it hadn’t actually done so. My tumblr was still up. I could see the word (ERROR) on the windows internet explorer bar. Control alt delete outta do it.

“Wait...what the hell?” I voiced quietly.

“What?” Raven asked over her shoulder.

Despite the fact that the internet was deciding not to respond to commands, the page itself was still functioning. My notifications were flooded. My new follower had gone through and liked everything I had and reblogged my posts.

 **  
** “Um, nothing…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I couldn't get the image I drew to show. Not sure why. If you want to see it go to this link: http://theblonderecluse.deviantart.com/art/Checks-and-Balances-Chapter-4-580293706 Or this link:

 

 

_ “Alright...What  _ do _ you remember about last night?” _

  
  


“Boomer...His name...is Boomer.” Buttercup asked with a raised brow. 

 

“Here, Brat sent me a picture.” I said and handed my new drinking buddy my phone to look at the small screen.

 

“Still sure you don’t wanna splurge on a new phone?” She teased. 

 

“Aw, shuttup.” 

 

“Maybe something with more pixels?” 

 

“I’m sorry, I thought I said shut up, but your words say otherwise. Weird.”

 

“Haha, alright.” Buttercup said with a grin and squinted to make out the picture. 

 

A few weeks in a row and Buttercup and I had been meeting up mondays for cinnamon rolls, and saturdays for drinks. Tonight was the latter. It was different. Having someone to talk with, or a friend in general. Well, a quality friend who likes to hang out. We were now sitting up in my, now our, regular spot with Buttercup’s legs propped up on my seat under the table, and one of mine on hers keeping her from getting up. About a month and a half had passed since that night Berserk had taken Brat and I out. After telling several of those rich guys where she worked, Brat had gotten quite a few new customers. One of which being that blonde guy Berserks boy toy what’s-his-face, I don’t remember, had introduced us too. 

 

About a month and a half had passed since the night my arm got a little fucked up too. It wasn’t completely healed yet either. Sure it was passed the point of being opened back up or start bleeding again. That milestone had long been passed, but I could still feel it wasn’t done yet. My arm was a little weaker than usual, a bit stiff and sore in movement. Around my new scar the flesh was red and burned, but I hadn’t killed over yet...Going out for drinks probably wasn’t the wisest course of action.

 

“Oh, shit…” Buttercup said with knit brows. 

 

“Yeah, freaking wings. Right down the middle.” I said gesturing a slice with my hand to emphasize the ridiculous hair cut. 

 

“No I...I hoped it was a different guy, but…” She stared at the phone a bit harder then handed it back. “But, how many people have a name like that.”

 

“Never thought I’d meet someone with a name like that in my life...Or hair for that matter. He’s got a bit of a twenties theme goin’ on dun’he?”

 

“No he’s like twenty six.” Buttercup said not really hearing what I’d said.

 

“No, I mean like from the twenties. He could grow a handlebar mustache and it’d make him look less weird.” I clarified. Buttercup pursed her lips, then nodded as she processed what I had said. I sighed.

 

“How do you know him?” I asked. Buttercup stirred her drink a bit. 

 

“Buttercup.” I prompted. She looked up.

 

“My family, and his kinda hate each other.” She shrugged. I knit my brows. Buttercup had looked to the side when she said that. For a tomboy who practically lived for competition, that response didn’t seem as genuine as I would’ve expected. Buttercup loved to hate her enemies. I noticed for the first time that she was wearing a necklace today. And might’ve wore it before, I just never noticed. The only reason I knew today, was because she had started playing with it. A distracted look on her face. I couldn’t see what was on the chain though. Oh well, it wasn’t my business. 

 

“Oh?” I asked. “What’s your beef Nutterbutter?” 

 

“Him and his brothers used to live down the street from our house and go to middle school with my sisters. The Jojo’s were assholes. Our dad’s also hate each other, but that’s this whole other thing. I don’t really wanna get into it.” 

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jojo? Boomer  _ Jojo _ ...Wow, his parents never gave him a chance did they?” I smirked. Buttercup rolled her eyes and scoffed. Wait, why was that last name familiar?

 

“I was being serious.”

 

“So was I.” I said gruffly. Buttercup got a glint in her eyes then kicked my thigh with her heel. 

 

“Ah my glutes!” I gasped unconvincingly.

 

“Those aren’t where you’re glutes are dumbass.”

 

“How would you know bubble butt? Can you even find your glutes?” I asked. Buttercup got that look on her face like she had been challenged. Then quickly clutched the side of her butt.

 

“This here’s one hundred percent glutes.” She said with her signature gloating grin. 

 

“Buns of steel huh?” 

 

“Titanium.”

 

“Hm...I prefer buns of cinnamon.” I said and took a bite of cinnamon roll. There was a moment of silence as I sat there with a mouth full of cinnamon roll and a fork not far from my face goading Buttercup as she sat lurched forward a challenging grin and hand on her ass. Then the two of us burst into a fit of giggles.

 

“The fuck are we talking about?” Buttercup asked while gasping for breathe. I didn’t answer and took a swig of the smirnoff I had. Buttercup rolled her eyes and sipped off the mike’s hard lemonade she had. She wasn’t really a fancy fruity drink type. Nor was she exactly a straight alcohol drinker. Though every night we’ve gone out she had tried a different drink. I don’t think she really knew what she liked yet. I preferred things more hard, and straight, or...Vodka. But, seeing as Buttercup was keeping things easy with the lemonade, I settled for smirnoff. Of course she gave me shit for it. 

 

“How do you drink that?” She asked suddenly. 

 

“Pardon?” I asked as I stopped drinking. She simply gestured to the bottle in hand. “What? Last time I tried to get another bottle of vodka, you wouldn’t shut up about it.” 

 

“I just don’t see how you can drink the same stuff all the time and not get sick of it. I’m not even recovered enough from that one night to drink vodka yet.” 

 

“Yeeeeears of practice.” I drawled. 

 

“Yeah, sure.” Buttercup stated and rolled her eyes slightly. Then she got an odd look on her face.

 

“...Hey, this is gonna sound a little…” She trailed off and sucked air through her teeth. “Had we met before?” I raised a brow.

 

“Before that night with Mitch I mean. Had we ever gone to the same grocery store or something? I feel like…” 

 

“We went to highschool together dipshit.” I snorted. Buttercup's face dropped. 

 

“No, not that-,”

 

“No, yeah we went to Oak High together. Two years.” I confirmed. I was almost compelled to point at her stunned face and say: True story. But, I’m not an asshole. I’m not douchey enough to do it ironically either, though if ever, that probably would’ve been the best time to actually say that vile line. 

 

“Hold on, wait, wait, wait.” Buttercup said and looked at me hard, trying to focus. I could see the gears turning as she tried to place me. I waited with a small amused smile and waited patiently. 

 

“Don’t tell me…” She said, and I could tell she was trying to think of any possible classes we had together. She won’t find any, I was two years behind her. 

 

“You might find my sisters Berserk and Brat a bit more memorable.” And just like that her eyes widened as it clicked.

 

Before I was even in highschool my sisters had already formed a hierarchy. Berserk sated herself into the popular ranks by being that one bitch you never wanted to cross. The great thing about my sister was she never really had to make threats. She just had that way about her that you never really knew what would happen if you made an enemy of her, you just knew you’d regret it. Then Brat came into the picture. Her more, wild nature instantly deemed her as the classic party girl. Half the school loved her, the other half hated. She always had the dirt on everyone, ready to spread at a hat’s drop. 

 

Triplets Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup Utonium happened to be in the same grade as Berserk. Given her quick status of not being friendly, Berserk quickly fell into a cold war with Blossom, future valedictorian, model student, class president, etc. etc. etc. They didn’t like each other. Naturally that meant Bubbles and Buttercup didn’t get along with Berserk either. A year of basically hating each other goes by, and Brat begins school. Now she’s in the mix causing trouble with Berserk, and this passive aggressive cold war is now two on three. 

 

“I remember those two demons! Why the hell don’t I remember you?” Buttercup asked in disbelief. I gave her a hard look.

 

“Buttercup, those are my  _ sisters. _ ” I replied sharply. She got a conflicted look halfway between  _ I’ve insulted you _ , and  _ I don’t care, I hate those bitches. _ My resolve fell and I laughed. Buttercup kicked my butt again when she realized I was messing with her. 

 

“Couldn’t help it. None taken by the way, we were punks back then. Well...still kinda are, but we’ve matured a bit since then.”

 

“...Hang on that sounds familiar...Were you one of those punks that hung out behind the gym and scared the hell outta the freshmen?”

 

I on the other hand, for the most part stayed out of their affairs when I started school. Brat and Berserk could handle themselves. I spent most of my time starting fights after school, vandalism, being an anti-social little fuck, scaring people away, and being an overall menace. I hug out with a few other angsty teens behind the gym who all secretly hated each other and I can’t remember even one of their names. Highschool, right? That added to my sister’s reputation and now Berserks not-threats were a bit less empty when I attended school. Everyone seemed to think I was my sisters attack dog. Mess with either of them, they’d ruin your social life, and I’d fuck you up or something like that. (A little ironic that I work in a morgue now, considering everyone seemed to think I’d send them to one.) 

 

Although, I can see why they’d think that. I wasn’t completely innocent via my siblings. I once overheard Princess Morbucks talking shit about Brat and calling her a whore. I walked over and slammed her face into the lockers, pulled her back, decked her then dropped her on the floor. She never saw it coming. I sent a glare to the girls she was talking to, they were too stunned to even move let alone control their own bladders, then walked off without a word. Princess walked around with a pretty smashed up face for a while and even had to get another nose job. I, along with most the school, thought it was pretty funny. Though the sugar on top was that I got away with it. Princess never really saw me good enough, or couldn’t remember well enough to say who did it, and the girls who were standing right there never told anyone. Too scared the same would happen to them I guess...actually now that I think about it, Princess might’ve been too scared of me to tattle. 

 

In other words, I was pretty damn elusive back then, but when ever I did get involved, it wasn’t pretty, or it was blown way out of proportion by the student body. Buttercup backed her sisters, and I was more of a spectator from the sidelines. 

 

“Pfft, figures that’s what follows me from high school.” I scoffed. 

 

“Shit, you really have calmed down since high school.” She gaped. “What the hell was your problem?”

 

“Hell I dunno. A third of the time I was either drunk, hungover, or suspended. I can’t remember a whole lot of it.” I admitted casually, causing Buttercup to have to repress a laugh mid drink, or else spray the table with back washed lemonade. 

 

“You crazy little shit.” She laughed once she got her resolved.

 

“What? I said I’d matured since then...for the most part.” I scratched the back of my neck a little and looked away. A little hard to be defensive, when you're still up to the old shit as always. I heard someone climbing up the stairs. Hard footsteps falling at a suspenseful pace like something outta a horror movie. I should’ve known who it was before Rodrick even showed his face. 

 

“Rodrick, you creepy motherfucker. What brings you to our corner?” Rodrick merely rolled his eyes and sat down (Damn near dropped) a platter he had been carrying on the table and turned away without a word. 

 

“Excellent! Right on time!” Buttercup cheered as Rodrick left. Perplexed, I shifted to get a better look at what had been placed in front of us. 

 

“Jello shots?” 

  
  


_ “Is that where it all started getting fuzzy?” _

 

_ “No, that’s later.” _

  
  


“Why does every encounter with you end the same way?” I asked. Buttercup and I were now sunk further down in our seats, legs tangled together. 

 

“Don’t *hic* be like that. You're the only person who’ll drink with me and can keep up.”

 

“Keep up? You’re barely up to par yourself.”

 

“I could out drink you any day!”

 

“Dream on light weight.” I poked. Buttercup once again started to get that competitive look on her face. Wide eyes a challenging look. It wasn’t scary, so much as...alluring. I suppose if you're competitive it works. More people would go along with what was happening. As good as she looked, I didn’t particularly feel like being the one to rile Buttercup up. I knew how that turned out.

 

“...Touch your nose with your left hand.” I said abruptly. She obliged without a second thought. “...That’s your right, lush.”

 

“Oh shuttup.” Buttercup said, knowing that that small mixup had already lost her the game of alcohol. I had sorta tricked her. Buttercup was right handed, and by blurting out to touch her nose with her left hand, she acted on more of a reflex to use her right. Not perfect, a sober person could make the mix up, one way or another. But if she was a little more sober, she might’ve pointed that out instead of sulking. 

 

“How’s your internet stalker?” She asked after a few moments of silence. 

 

“Oh right,” I said remembering “They keep messaging me. Everytime I go into work my inbox is flooded.”

 

“Yeah? What’s it saying?”

 

“Don’t say ‘it’. They’re a person.”

 

“But it’s weird to say ‘they’ for one person.”

 

“Yeah, I guess...Still.”

 

“Whatever, what did  **_it_ ** say.” She repeated. I made a noise. “Don’t soan at me, what’s  **_it_ ** say?”

“Soan?”

 

“Sigh-groan. Get used to it.”

 

“Wh-...Whatever.” I gave up. “Just talking about whatever, their day, weird stuff. Y’know, just trying to get me to respond. You’d be surprised how these one sided conversations go.”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Buttercup dismissed.

 

“Who told you I was?”

 

“Still. Stalking and stuff like that is messed up and all, but it’s probably just some weird shut in halfway across the world trying to troll you. Trust me, I know a guy with some issues that everyone blows WAY out of proportion, and he’s completely harmless.”

 

“If you say so.” Though the two of us had become fast friends, I wasn’t so keen to take advice in the area of danger from Buttercup. We could both handle ourselves fine, the only difference being that Buttercup was rarely in actual hostile situations. She was the type of person who could be tied up in someone’s trunk and still think they weren’t in real danger. The type that was oblivious to, or ignored real danger because they thought they could handle whatever got thrown at them through pure strength and attitude. I tried to avoid those types of situations as much as I could. But she had a point, and I wasn’t worried. Not yet, at least. Just as what we were saying began to die down, a particularly loud party entered the CinnaBar drawing both of our attention over the loft. Out the corner of my eye I noticed Buttercups demeanor shift slightly. A spark of that predatory look she had. Like a snow leopard. 

 

“Oh boy, you're getting fighty again…” I commented. Buttercup smirked. 

 

“I feel some arm wrestling in the near future.” She replied. Now I smirked.

 

“C’mon, let’s see if you can make one of those guys cry.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Buttercup was in an intense match with some college student. All around his friends were hoot’n and hollering, waving money around in their hands and cheering their friend on. I backed Buttercup and cheered her on. Sorta. I egged her on. 

 

“Come on Buttercup, you can do this! You gonna let some frat boy out do you?” I said near her ear as the two of them struggled in the armlock. The college guys around started booing.

 

“Shut…! Up…!” She managed to growl at me.

 

“Is that weakness I hear, Nutterbutter? Are you a Buttercup, or a Butter _ finger _ ?” This time the growl sounded more like a snort.

 

“I’m trying to concentrate goddammit. Don’t make me laugh!” 

 

“Don’t lose your cool Butterfingers.”

 

“I’m gonna punch you if you fuck me up!” The look of focus on her face as she stared down the guy was captivating. Almost intimate. The guy wasn’t even looking up at her. Stupid. His friends were all yelling, not even really listening to the two of us. Some were cheering him on, others calling him a pussy for not finishing this quickly. 

 

“If you win, I’ll pay our tab.” I said trying to motivate. I was very invested in this. 

 

“Not much of an incentive.” She grimaced. Hmm...Incentive. I leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek, thinking she’d get a laugh.

 

“Hows that?” I asked. She didn’t respond. Her arm stopped shaking. For a moment I thought she was going to lose. Then I think she snapped out of it and continued to flex against this guys arm. I fell silent after that and opted for watching like a silent spectator. 

 

Buttercup was strong. Really strong, but she didn’t over do it. She was fit, and probably had some abs, but she wasn’t ‘buff’. Her strength didn’t physically show. In other words she could easily overpower most girls, and guys, if not match them. I could see the gears turning in her head. She was smart. She couldn’t out match this guy. But she could outlast him. All she had to do was stick it out and wait for him to become too fatigued and his muscles to give up. Eventually with a satisfied grin planted deeply across Buttercups face and the guys arm shaking like and dryer full of shoes, his arm started to lower. 

 

Then all at once Buttercup rammed it into fifth gear and nearly flipped him out of his seat. It also helped that Buttercup somehow magically got stronger when drunk. All his frat boys bellowed in disbelief and I threw my arms in the air and yelled “Pay up frat bitches!” as they all started throwing their money on the table. To his credit, I expected the guy to start pouting, but his drunken content grin told me otherwise. He was a good sport, laughed it off with his buddies and even shook Buttercups hand. I figured his buddies were gonna give him a hard time and smirked. 

 

“You bet on me?” She asked with a raised brow. I didn’t miss the cocky look of victory on her face.

 

“Yeah. The fuck you think they were all waving money around for?” 

 

“They were?”

 

“You didn’t notice?”

 

“...I don’t know if you noticed this, or not; but I literally had my hands full at the time.” 

 

“Technically just one. Don’t exaggerate.” Buttercup was about to retort, or possibly hurt me, when I felt my phone going off in my coat pocket. I stopped her with a single finger as I pulled my phone out and looked at it. I frowned. Unknown caller. That usually meant only meant one thing. 

 

“What?” I snapped. 

 

“You're booked tonight.” A low monotone male voice responded. Didn’t even respond to my hostile tone, like one would expect. But, I had been receiving anonymous calls from this voice for years now. We didn’t have to get along, these were business calls after all. I sighed.

 

“Hang on, let me get a pen.” I said as I headed to the bar. Buttercup stayed back, picking up and counting the remaining cash on the table. I barely had to snap my fingers and gesture to the phone before Rodrick produced a pen. 

 

“Shoot.” I said and started jotting down the time, location, etc. on a napkin. He rattled it all off then hung up without second checking. Didn’t matter; I got what I needed. With a sigh and freshly sour face I gave Rodrick his pen back then turned back to find Buttercup as I called a taxi. I had about a half hour before I needed to head out. Having a pre-drink before a fight wasn’t ideal in terms of thinking straight and speed, but at least if I got hit I wouldn’t feel it as much. I wasn’t really that drunk anyway. Mostly. I found her back up in the loft and plopped down across from her.

 

“What in the hell…?” 

 

“What? What is it?”

 

“Oh my god…”

 

“What is there something wrong with my clothes? I think it’s a good look for me.” Buttercup had gathered up all the cash from those college guys and stuck every one of them so they were sticking out of her clothes. Shoes, pockets, pants, underwear, shirt, hat, bra...cleavage. 

 

“You don’t think it’s a good look?” She teased. My jaw dropped a little.

 

“...You kinda remind me of my sister right now actually…” Was all I could manage to get out. Buttercups lip curled a little, and she started to recover the bills.

 

“Ugh...that’s a mood killer.” She commented as she tucked the wad of cash down the front of her short. I chuckled softly, though I can’t say my expression held much mirth.

 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her brows knit with concern.

 

“...I gotta go.”

 

“What?” Her voice a mix of disappointment and agitation. 

 

“Sorry, duty called.” I said holding my hand to my ear like a phone. Realization set in as she realized what the phone must’ve been about. 

 

“And what exactly is your duty?” She asked with a raised brow.

 

“I already told you. Work.” I said curtly.

 

“Which is...?” She pressed.

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

Ignorance is bliss. And the less people who know about my side fighting, the better. One thing that rings true with everyone involved, is the reaction of the reveal. People always react in the same one of three ways, and it really tells about that person. 

 

Rejection: They disapprove, want you to stop, try to intervene, and sometimes call the cops and try to blow the whole system up. Generally these are the people who really care about you. They don’t like you being in harm's way, be it physically or just being wrapped up in a sketchy situations. And if you care about them too, it’s best not to tell them in the first place. They tend to not only screw things up for you, but  intervention often brings harm knocking to their front door. No thank you.

 

Overboard: They get a bit too excited about the idea of it. Usually want to go, or get involved in some way. Generally just way to excited, accepting, and pumped up about the idea it all. They tend to launch themselves in and start fighting without a clear understanding of respect for one another or the rules. The type who start out hot then  **_BRING A GODDAMN KNIFE TO A FIST FIGHT_ ** . It’s not exclusive, but in more extreme cases; they tend to be the type to stab you in the back. Hell, sometimes you end up meeting them in a fight, and most the time that damn near destroys any shred of friendliness between two. It’s better to avoid people with this kind of reaction. You never really know how it’ll go, but most the time it ain’t good. And they don’t tend to be the type of people you want to hang out with. 

 

And lastly; Mixed: They have a certain mixed reaction that could be anywhere between rejection and excitement. They usually are shocked, and confused, and don’t really know what to do with the information. Half the time they act like they never knew that fact and go on in life pretending like they never did, and don’t want to hear anything about it. Then on the other side they might just avoid you altogether. These generally aren’t people you were ever close with, so no one really cares what they think. If you wanted to tell them, and actually cared about their opinion, you’d wait till your relationship is better solidified. 

 

Naturally there’s several exclusions to these, and variations. But, more often than not, these are what you get. Of course whether or not these are good or bad depends entirely on what you're reason for fighting is, what type of person you are, and what type of people you enjoy the company of. Personally, I just prefer not to go through the trouble of telling people what I do. It’s easier, and I don’t know how Buttercup would react. And I don’t know how I’d prefer she did.

 

“...I’ll find out sooner or later.” She smirked. Nonchalant. Just like that. So sure of herself. 

 

“Watch it, that ego gets much bigger in a closed space you’ll suffocate.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Heh.” I laughed and checked my phone. Almost time to head out. I started to get up, but was stopped by Buttercups leg planted into my seat from under the table; keeping me boxed into my seat. My brows knit as I looked at her. Confused.

 

“Ah, Ah, Ah. You can't leave yet. You got your winnings, but I didn’t get mine.” She explained. 

 

“Oh. Right. There were a few promises made on my part weren’t there?” I said. Buttercup nodded with a slight grin on her face. And there was something else as she eyed me. It was similar to when she was arm wrestling, when the promises had been made, but not quite the same. ‘Must’ve been from remembering the match.

 

“Well, you’ve got half my winnings stuck in your cleavage, so use that for drinks, I gotta go.” I said clutching her toned muscular leg. Couldn’t move it an inch. I tried to get up so I could go over, but was stopped when Buttercup leaned forward and snatched the front of my shirt.

 

“That’s not the  _ win _ I was talking about.” Before I could even say anything, I was pulled harshly over the table, empty plates, half empty bottles and our remaining jello shots cluttering aside as Buttercup connected my lips to hers. I was...surprised. For a few moments I was borderline slackjaw as a soft tongue and a strong mouth assaulted the lower half of my face. Then she pulled away. Smirking.  _ That cocky amused smirk she always had when she won something. _ Her competitive expression held, with a glint of something else. What it was, I didn’t know, I hadn’t seen it from her before. Heat rose to my cheeks as I remained on the table, a little flustered and trying to grasp what had just happened. 

 

“Alright, you’re free to go.” She said since I was so silent, just sitting there staring at her, and flicked her wrist to shoo me. Though, she didn’t put her leg down. 

 

Brain still mush, all I muttered out was, “Okay, you got yours, so give me mine.” and held my hand out for the money she had tucked away. I could see it sticking out the top of her v-neck shirt right between her girls. Now that competitive spark was back, and as her grin grew I finally got a hold of myself. Buttercup leaned back in her seat and placed her hands behind her head in a very condescending manner.

 

“Oh you wanna get yours, huh? Well then, you’re gonna have to get it yourself.” An evil glint in her eyes. I glared down at her. 

 

Oh  _ hell _ no. No way in hell is she going to challenge me like that. She wants a challenge, she has one. 

  
  


_ “...I guess incentive is contagious...Who’da known…” _

  
  


We ended up making out until ten minutes after I absolutely had to leave. It was intense and competitive and remained so until the flavor of the liqueurs we had been drinking that night had blended together. Though it was hot, the whole competitive tongue wrestling got a little boring. Only after a formidable challenge of dominancey in giving Buttercup more of a run for her money, ‘er mine, and more than she had bargained for, did things let up and die down once I permitted Buttercup to take the wheel. After that it died down to constant face sucking, which was...awesome. Until I realized that I had lost track of time with it a bit. I parted with Buttercup finally, and left feeling pleased with myself that I left her flush faced, laxed and practically glowing. 

 

That mix of satisfaction and confidence stayed with me the entire cab ride, and after I got out and continued on foot to the destination chosen for tonights match. The light feeling stayed until I arrived and I remembered what was in store for tonight. It soon drained from my person. 

 

A few miles outside of town there was an old field far enough out of the way for anyone to find, and enough forest and trees from the main road for anyone to hear. It was a prefered hotspot. However, what made it so great, also made it difficult. It was private property. Which meant gated and secluded from prying eyes. It also meant we had to be permitted. I didn’t personally know who owned it, who paid the owner off, or what his interest in being our host was, but it wasn’t my business. So long as I got what I came for, and could come and go as I pleased, I didn’t care. Not my place to judge one sick fuck outta the rest. 

 

As I approached the clearing I could see most of the grass had been cleared, a few tents were set up, and as always the observation deck had been set up. An enclosed private viewing station for the more high class viewers that may partake or place bets, etc. Generally they're the ones making most the profit, pay the winners, and set these up. It was basically a room built twenty feet in their air overlooking the ring. Good view of the fight, and no one can get a glimpse of them. I just had to get over to the ring and wait to be called in. 

 

In the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of grease hair and sickly skin. Aw, fuck me.

 

“What do you want Ace?” I spat. I’m  _ so _ not in the mood for his shit. Not right now.

 

“Aw don’t be like that X, we was just wantin’ to chat a bit before the fight’n t’night.” Said as he caught up on my left and Snake slithered up on my right. No doubt the rest of the freakshow was trotting along behind. I didn’t stop, or even look at either of them as I kept walking to where I was headed. 

 

“You’ve got till I get to the ring to spit out whatever it is you’ve got to say.” 

 

“I’m hurt, X.” He said and tried to put his hand on my shoulder. I smacked it away before he was within five inches. The message clear.  _ You will  _ hurt _ if you keep pretending we’re friends. _

 

None of us were freinds here. Not real ones anyway. A closer way to put it would be colleagues. For the most part, outside the ring everyone kept it professional. We can’t stress the “respect your fellow fighter”, rule enough. People are fighting because they like it, or need to. Being an asshole hurts you more than everyone else. Inside the ring, go nuts, just make sure when the fights over there’s no hard feelings. 

 

One of the biggest unspoken rules is whatever happens in or around the ring stays there. Don’t bring it to the public. You see someone going about their life outside the ring, you don’t know each other. If you’re a couple rowdy fother muckers and get along like a pbj, then go for it, be friends outside the ring. But most the time if you lock eyes with someone on the outside, the most interaction is a nod of acknowledgment, then back to pretending you’ve never met. 

 

These idiots in particular aren’t what you call friends. I wouldn’t even go so far as to call them associates. They like to act like they’re a gang to be reckoned with, and deserve just as much respect as the big wigs in the observation deck. They don’t. None of them have done anything worthy of any good graces from anyone. 

 

Their “gang” is hired to scout out potential fighting grounds. An empty field, an abandoned factory, location, location, location. It’s literally the lowest rung you can possibly work and the only reason they aren’t doing anything better is because no one is stupid enough to actually trust them not to fuck up any other job. They don’t fight, they’re disrespectful, and throw their weight around because they “Have ties with the spectators”. Meaning they bug the shit out of everyone, but they actually contribute a little so instead of beating their pathetic clique to a pulp, everyone tries their best to ignore the pests. Call it harsh, but they don’t blend with this crowded whatsoever. 

 

Afterall...They are the only ones throwing out their real names. Everyone just goes by their ring name. Well, everyone but them and the Amoeba Brothers, but everyone actually liked them. But every time Ace calls me X instead of The Executioner, my skin crawls with that dormant need to rip someone's throat out. As much as I detested him, it wasn’t a bad idea to keep him around right before a match. 

 

“Just a little chat, X. Tell you what, you don’t even have to say anythin’. You walk an’ I’ll talk, yeah?” I didn’t respond. He took that as a go. 

 

“Listen, everyone’s heard about your little...incident, last month, heheh.” Ace lightly punched at my bad arm and I had to bite back a hiss from the sudden contact. “Oh, look at that boys, we’re in luck!” He hollered. I couldn’t stop my expression from contorting into a snarl.

 

“Get to the  _ point _ Ace.” I growned. Glasses or no, I could see he knew he had to tread lightly or suffer the consequences. 

 

“Well X, seein’ as you ain’t operatin’ at full capacity, we figure this fight ain’t gonna go your way, see? But most everyone here ain’t seen last match ‘n don’t know. They’re thinkin’ it’ll be a good fight t’night.”

 

“Let me stop you there, before you regret what you’re about to say.-”

 

“C’mon, doll just hear us fellas out, huh?”

 

“No, please, continue. Suggest I throw the match for less money than I can make if I were to win, and the odds of ever getting a good fight in the future plummet. By all means go ahead and finish that thought.” 

 

“Oh X, it ain't like you ain't never lost befo-AH!” Ace had leaned in and put his arm around my shoulders. He barely went for a slight embrace before I had him by the wrist and had twisted it off me and pinned behind his back at a painful angle. The rest of his ‘gang’ stiffened when Ace yelped and his breath turned to pained seething and hissing. 

 

“Don’t call me  _ X,  _ Ace. It ain’t my name, and we aren’t friends, so don’t touch me like we  _ are. _ ” I spoke in a low growl as the rest of the gang circled. None of them dared move, probably afraid I’d break their “beloved leader’s” arm. Like a twig. “We clear?”

 

Ace glared but didn’t respond. My brow quirked a little. “ _ Are. We. Fucking.  _ **_Clear._ ** ” I said and dug my thumb ever so roughly into a pressure point in his palm. He hissed yet again then hurriedly nodded his head. I released him and gave him a shove away, then turned away to once again head to the ring. I didn't hear any of them make a move in my direction. For a moment I thought about taking them up on the offer. If I were to lose the fight, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for a backup plan to leave with extra cash. But I shrugged that thought away. Anyone finds out you're making shitty deals, it wouldn’t end well. And I don’t trust those idiots to be careful. 

 

Just passed one of the tents I heard loud music kick in. I recognized Toxicity by System of a Down. It was starting up. 

  
  


_ “Now  _ here’s  _ where things start getting fuzzy.” _

  
  


I don’t remember much of the fight…

 

I got to the epicenter of the action. The Ameba Brothers were running the music and the snack shack. Everyone actually liked them. As much as they liked to think they were hard core criminals, they were good guys. A little naive maybe, but good guys. They dealt with music, snacks drinks, first aid kit, and anything else you can think up that made the fights a little better. They were about the only ones here that actually cared even a little bit about the fighters. It went a long way. For good guys playing villains, they got a lot more respect around here than everyone else...Especially their free water for fighters policy.

 

I was at the stand getting a water and chatting a bit despite the angry line behind me. They could fuck off, I was their entertainment tonight. I heard my summon as the announcer called out The Executioner, and I made my way in the ring. My opponent of the night, The Duchess, was called as well. I think I remember exchanging a friendly handshake before the fight started…

 

My movements were slow…

 

My blows were sloppy…

 

I didn’t feel anything she hit me with…

 

I might’ve broke her nose…

 

Then nothing…

 

She must’ve knocked me out. I woke up to Slim and a small crowd standing over me. My bad arm hurt like hell. I think Slim and Junior tried to get me to drink water. I lost, but the pay was good, so it must’ve been one hell of a fight. A cab was called for me. 

 

I remember seeing Ace with a big shit eating grin. I glared. When he caught my eye he must’ve waltzed over. I think I gave him a shiner on contact.

 

Then I was in the cab heading back to the bar for my car instead of straight home. 

  
  


“I think I went back in for more drinks after that, my shoulder was killing me. That much I remember...” I grumbled in a matter of fact tone.

 

“I can’t believe you slept in that old car all night.” Brat commented for the eighth time this morning. 

 

“I can’t believe she drives that monster in public.” Berzerk agreed. I lifted my head in time to see the evil glint in Brat’s eyes.

 

“I can’t believe it’s not B-”

“You’d better think about your next words very carefully if you're about to finish that sentence the way I think you are.” I spat at my sister with as much malice as I could muster at the moment. Brat gave me a playfully knowing smirk but didn’t utter another word. 

 

They weren’t to pleased when I left yesterday for drinks and didn’t come home till noon; battered, bruised, looking like I was going to puke, and barely an idea of what had happened in those hours. 

 

Best I can figure I got to the bar, drank till who knows when then stumbled off until I somehow found my car, lied down in the back and passed out till morning. Luckily the windows were tinted enough in the back that the hearst that the sun wasn’t an issue, but I still woke up early feeling like hell and spent the next few hours just trying to collect myself enough that I could drive home. So here I was sitting at the kitchen table under the interrogation and mercy of my  _ loving  _ sisters.

 

There was something else that happened too, but...They didn’t need to know about that. 

 

Berserk, the vindictive bitch that she is, poured a tall glass of milk that had just started to smell sour and slid it down  _ right _ in front of me. Practically under my nose. I caught a whiff before I processed what it was and violently gagged. They were edging on dangerous territory. A place I’d get to all to quickly, and it wouldn’t be pretty. They were trying to piss me off and it was working.

 

“You reap what you sew.” She commented at Brat snickered.

 

“Fuck. You.” I growled. Not gonna puke.

 

“Oh, does that smell bad?” Berserk mocked. 

 

“I don’t know what the fuck you two are so pissy for!? It’s not like you two don’t pull this shit all the time.”

 

“We  _ don’t  _ pull-!” Brat stated.

 

“Oh, bullshit! Brat you stay later than you planned to for work all the time, and Berserk disappears to go rendezvous with loverboy without even a goddamn word!” ...And the pin drops… 

 

“You could’ve at least sent one of us a  _ text _ that you were going to be out late!” Berserk yelled back in the not very loud but intimidating way she had. 

 

“ Oh-ho-ho! So let me get this straight...I’m not in trouble because I was out late...I’m in trouble because I broke my routine without you're okay!?” I snapped.

 

Unbelieveable. Brat gets held up at work just as long as I was out at  _ least _ once every other week, and Berserk has been gone for a week and a half on several occasions. When  _ I’m  _ not working up until now I’ve had nothing better to do than stick around the house for the most part. But, now that I’ve slightly got other things on the agenda that’s not okay? 

 

Having a steady job isn’t enough. Qualifying for a side job you have to be tough as nails for isn’t enough. Supporting half the rent, and supplies isn’t enough. Being a twenty-three year old adult isn’t enough.

 

No, apparently nothing is enough. I’m still gonna be the baby sister who they expect a status report from anytime I do anything. Fucking bullshit. I’m an adult, they don’t need to know where I am or what I’m doing 24/7. If we weren’t living together they’d never even know what the hell I was up too. 

 

“...” 

 

“Cuz I sure as hell don’t remember you ever checking for my okay before doing whatever the fuck you two pleased.” It’s not that I don’t care, but I’m so used to them being who knows where without a word, that it doesn’t bother me. Unless it’s been an unusual amount of time, or something seems off there’s never been a need to worry. So I don’t.

 

“ _ Do you know how we were getting close to calling the cops? _ ” Berserk seethed...Apparently they do. I scowled. This is fucking ridiculous. She really thinks empty threats like that are going to make me feel guilty?

 

“You can drop the act Berserk! I went out for drinks, got called in for work, and got home okay in the morning! Nothing happened, so you can spare me the mother bear act! You’re not my mom so stop suddenly acting like it just cuz’ this one time you feel like you should be the  protective sister!” I was in her face now. Her expression slowly relaxed, but that only seemed to make it sharper. For a moment she said nothing. Then she left the room like a phantom. I could feel Brat’s gaze burrowing through me. I reeled around on her.

 

“The fuck’er you starring at!” I snapped before she could say anything. Brat’s expression turned furious. She looked like she was about to slap me, but stopped and thought better of it and stormed out. I heard the door to Berserk and Brats room slam shut. Only then did I realize How tightly my fist was clenched, or that I had been standing over the table in a goading sort of way. I sucked in a few shaky breaths through my teeth. Just standing there. Shoulders back and tense, ready to pounce on something.

 

...But I knew better.

 

I went into the living room, my room, and started angrily throwing whatever stuff I got my hands on in a duffle, clothes, money, some belongings...The rusty golf club I keep under the couch in case of intruders. Hell, I even grabbed my blankets and the couch cushions, and headed out the door, making sure to slam it hard enough the neighbors would complain, and threw it all in my car. 

 

I’m not sure exactly how long drove or even where I went exactly. I was seeing red, and nothing else. Eventually I ended up in an empty lot somewhere wailing in an empty metal trashcan some bums probably used as a fire place. Too fucking bad. My arm hurt like absolute hell the entire time, but I kept wailing on it with ol’ rusty until it was to crumpled and the rusted out parts of what used to be a trash can had been bashed in. 

 

And then it was calm. I threw ol’ rusty in the back of the hearse and sat on the hood of the car until it started getting dark. Wow, today went by quickly. I didn’t even know where the fuck I was.

 

Fucking wonderful.

 

I sighed. This is just...fuck. Eventually it would get to cold and I would have to make up my ‘bed’ in the back of the hearse. Apparently pissed off Brute decided she’d be gone at least a few nights. I set it while I still had daylight and crawled in the front seat in the meantime. My arm was throbbing like it had the day after I first got stabbed.

 

“...Really fucking did it this time…’ I grumbled to myself. 

 

I watched traffic pass on the highway just out of the lot for who knows how long before I decided I was ready to crawl in back. Just to make sure something was in the glove compartment, a knife, a gun, something, I leaned over and popped it open. When I saw the slightly crumpled piece of paper carelessly put in there I was reminded of last night. 

 

That little bit of info I left out…

 

I vaguely remember the walk to find my car. Helplessly drunk or not, I knew I had parked a few blocks away from the bar. It took a little while of wandering to remember where, but I did. And I sobered up enough in that moment to feel that wiry feeling trail down my back. I turned around and tried to peer through the dark of night. No good. That instinctive pull was there though. I felt someone out there. Watching, following. I couldn’t shake it. I didn’t get that feeling drunk. I got that feeling when it happened. Though I couldn’t see anyone, I still felt as though someone was on the street hiding somewhere. Maybe behind a dumpster, or in an ally. I didn’t know. 

 

I was too drunk to dial my phone, I was too drunk to drive. Instead of heading to my car I went around the neighborhood for a while trying to shake the feeling, and hopefully anyone who might’ve been trying to follow. I think I might’ve hid in someone’s backyard a little. It’s fuzzy. I just remember having that feel and running around anywhere that wasn’t my car for a few hours, then waking up in the back of the hearse. 

 

The thing about that feeling is, it doesn’t just turn off when whatever it was that made you feel it is gone. It stays and lingers until it fades away. Like watching a scary movie. You don’t really get scared, but when it comes time to go to sleep, you feel just a little too creeped out and spooked to close your eyes. When you get that feeling, you never really know if it’s gone or not. 

 

I didn’t remember any of it at first when I woke up. Not even until I pulled myself in front of the wheel and noticed a note stuck under my windshield wiper. Up until now I had shoved it in the back of my mind to think about it later. In other words I shoved it in my glove compartment.

 

Now it was later and I just stared at the note, and read it again. 

 

_ (You can’t ignore me forever.)  _

 

Once again I crumpled it up and threw it back in the glove compartment. Brilliant thinking, not tell your sisters about that, then  _ taking off to live in the vehicle that some creep already knows. _ Once again I sighed, locked the doors and crawled in back to sleep on the couch cushions. 

  
_My life feels to much like a fucking carnival ride right now..._  


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s complete and utter bullshit is what it is.” I said over my shoulder as I did the foundation of some 80-something-year-dead broad. 

 

“Uh-huh.” Raven said as she continued prepping my next victim. 

 

“Not once have they ever done anything remotely guardian-like or protective, and suddenly I’m some irresponsible teen ‘er some shit. What they hell are they trying to pull?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Dropping out of highschool? Not a word. Fucking fight club? Sure, get the bills paid.  _ What _ ? You didn’t come home till the next morning, this  _ one _ time? Oh! Well, fuck you!”   

 

“Uh-huh.” Finally I sighed.

 

“Are you even listening.”

 

“Every word.”

 

“I just don’t get it. Out of everything that’s ever happened, and every dangerous thing I’ve ever been involved with, they choose now to get mad?  _ Now? _ Over something so stupid?” I said. Raven sighed.

 

“I wouldn’t exactly say it’s something stupid. Blown out of proportion maybe.” I narrowed my eyes at her.

 

“How? How is this not dumb as hell?”

 

“I’m not disagreeing there.” Raven quipped with a defensive undertone. She didn’t even look up from what she was doing. “I’m just saying I can understand why they’d be upset.”

 

“Oh my god…” I grumbled under my breath. I can see where this is going.

 

“From what it sounds like, of the three of you, you are the only one consistently home, and it’s unusual for you to be gone the whole night. That seems like an understandable reason for someone you live with, let alone family, to worry.” 

 

I gave her an incredulous look, and spoke slowly; only somewhat aware of the edge in my voice. 

 

“I will admit it got out of hand when I lost my temper. I will admit that I said something I shouldn’t have. But  _ how are you saying what I think you're saying? _ ” 

 

“Brute, for all they knew you could’ve been hurt, or kidnapped--” She started but that just reminded me of what had really set me off last night.

 

“And another thing! That bullshit about calling the cops! That is the most empty, cop-out threat she can make for me, yet she  _ has the nerve, _ to  _ say that  _ to _ my face. _ ”

 

Under different circumstances, perhaps having someone saying they were going to call the cops might be touching, but in this case it was a ditch effort to try and make me feel guilty for being out late. It backfired because I knew for a fact it would take a lot more than that for my sisters to call the cops. I had made that painstakingly clear years ago why doing so would be trouble. All other reasons aside, they knew well enough that calling the cops to dig around looking for me, would ultimately result in them digging around for fight club. Best case, if I’m fine, I get kicked out and we lose a bit of financial support. Worst case...Well...they know not to call. 

 

I’d never told Raven exactly what it was I did that got me so banged up all the time, but I had made sure she knew it was none of her business and that she shouldn’t get the police involved. She dropped it soon enough. She didn’t have to know what I did, but she knew enough to know that what Berserk had said was low.

 

“Okay, granted. Spouting an empty comment to someone who would see through it is not a  _ wise _ move in a heated situation--” 

 

“I just-- I can’t--” I broke off trying to find the words. “One of them stays out a few days in a row, and we don’t bat an eye. I stay home by  _ my _ choice, not because of any obligation. Staying out all night ain’t unheard of from someone my age. Actually I’m pretty sure ninty percent of us do. And it’s my right to do so as an adult. I don’t have to answer to either of them, and I’ve never had too. Their pissed because I actually got out of the house? For the life of my I can’t figure out what sprung this from them so suddenly.”

 

“It’s not as simple as you just ‘getting out of the house’.” I could hear the air quotes in her voice as I continued layering shades of brown on Mrs.Snyders cheek bones. Make em’ look less sunken in. 

 

“Pff! Oh, who asked you-!”

 

“-You did.”

“No, I wanted an ear to listen and agree with me. I didn’t ask for the brain and mouth to tag along.” I knew Raven was right, but it never felt like she fully listened to or understood what I said whenever I spoke with her on issues like this. Probably because she didn’t particularly care. 

 

“Well too bad, they’re a package deal.” 

 

“Not last week they weren’t.” I commented with a smirk. Last week we had to deal with a victim of a brutal car accident. Wasn’t pretty. 

 

For the first time I heard Raven shift and look towards me. No doubt glaring. 

 

“Bru-.”

 

“I might as well just talk to Mrs. Snyder. You feel me Mrs. S?”

 

“ _ Actually, I can’t feel anything anymore, but I’d stand with you on this if I could  da’ling! _ ” I said in a voice as I moved her jaw and mouth where Raven could see. She went stiff. Not amused. 

 

“Okay, you’ve made you're-”

 

“Well thank you, it’s nice to have someone who  _ listens! _ ” I spat the last word towards Raven. 

 

“ _ Well, da’ling I have to say my hands are tied, as I cannot hear anything any more either! Though, that went away  _ years  _ ago! _ ” 

 

“Oh, Mrs.S, you old charmer!”

 

“Are you quite finished?” Raven asked. 

 

“Damn near!” I snapped, raised Mrs. Snyder’s arm, high-fived it, then crossed my arms. 

 

“Brute. Poker night wasn’t funny.  Zombie make-up wasn’t funny. Pull my finger funny. Hiding in the freezer drawer wasn’t funny. The puppet show  _ last week _ wasn’t funny. And this isn’t funny.”

 

“Oh for christ’s sake. Would you lighten up?” 

 

“Ligh-”

 

“You work in one of the grimmest jobs there is. Crack a smile! Lighten up! Grow a sense of humor! Just because this is the only place you get out of the house for doesn’t mean you have to carry it around with you. Fuck.” That’s right Raven. I can get real too.

 

“You're one to talk! This whole mess you're in has to do with you never doing anything other than go to work!”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t take work with me, I take myself to work!” Raven was quiet for a moment. “You’re not gonna get very far if you let it get to you.”

 

“I know what you’re doing Brute, we’re not changing the subject.” I looked up at Raven with the intent to appear insulted she would suggest I tried to do such a thing and argue my points, but one look at the utterly annoyed look she gave back as we locked eyes for a moment. My resolve fell. 

 

“Alright, alright. But I’m not dropping that. We’ll talk about you some other time, but it’ll happen.” I sighed. 

 

“On another date then?”

 

“Definitely. Look at me, Ra- Look at me. We are gonna talk about that one day.” I said in a stern tone. I really did feel the need to put her in perspective job-wise. There were...things to discuss. Raven however, decided to ignore my comment, and went straight for the kill. 

 

“Brute, accept the situation for what it is and go home.” Jesus. Right for the jugular.

 

“Not an option. I’m still pissed.” 

 

“How’s life living in your car treating you?”

 

“Almost through with week two. Running dangerously low on clean underwear...I think a homeless lady stole a pair of my socks while I was showering in a rest stop the other night.” I could almost feel Raven double-take. 

 

“Brute. Go home.”

 

“You know what, no. Okay? They freaked out over something small. I sometimes crawl home at five in the morning to exhausted for anything, and the one night I stay out overnight, they blow it completely out of proportion. If I didn’t live with them, they’d have absolutely nothing to get upset about.”

 

“-that’s because they wouldn’t know about it.-”

 

“And even living with them they have no reason. I can make my own decisions, whether they agree or not. So they can deal with me going off the grid for a bit. Or not. I don’t care.”

 

“Wait, off the grid? You  _ have _ spoken to them since you left, right?”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Brute!” I cringed a little bit at the change in tone.

 

“Hey! Keep it down! You do that again while I’m working over here, and you’ll have to explain why she’s missing an eye.” I scolded, then continued with Mrs.Snyder’s eyeshadow. Seriously. A glass eye replacement and makeup can only go so far to fix a fucked up eyelid. And frankly I don’t wanna do the paperwork for it. “-Calm the fuck down. They called I ignored it. Phones dead, there ain't nothing I can do about it.” I shrugged. 

 

“Oh my-- You don’t even have your phone charged?”

 

“What am I supposed to charge it with? My shoelaces? Phones like these don’t have car chargers.” Or, maybe they do, but I sure as hell don’t have one. 

 

“...You're crazy, you know that?” She asked.

 

“Yeah well...Can’t you just agree that this is dumb?” I pleaded. For gods sakes why do I even talk to you?

 

“Yes. I do think this is dumb. I think all  _ three _ of you are acting dumb.” I frowned,

 

“You suck at this.” I commented. 

 

“Exactly. Why aren’t you venting all of this to that Utonium girl, hmm? Or better yet, see about staying with her until you're ready to go home. I’m sure she’d be better for it. Or more willing…”

 

And on the note my shoulder’s sagged slightly. Right...That…

 

“Ugh...You had to remind me…” I groaned. I’d been trying not to think about that...Might be part of the reason I’ve latched onto staying pissed at my sisters.

 

“What? What is it.”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Leave it Raven.”

 

The room was silent for a moment. The only sound was the slight noise caused by the soft brush strokes over Mrs. Snyder’s wrinkled skin. A few years being shaved off in the action. 

 

“...Not that I haven’t wanted you to shut up since you walked in, but we’ve already had more ‘real’ talk today, than I was prepared for. A little more won’t do any harm.”

 

“Oh Jesus, don’t start.” Why? I wanted to rant about sister issues, and I get nothing. Now you wanna talk about what I don’t. W. T. F. 

 

“Hey, you're the one that wanted to talk.”

 

“Not about that.”

 

“Brute come on. You just went from frustratingly animated, to shelled up and reserved at a breakneck pace. It’s a bit alarming.”

 

“I’m always shelled up and quiet.”

 

“No. You're not. Not like this.” I heard the roller chair from the computer station being wheeled over. I looked up in time for Raven to wheel it on the opposite of me on the other side of the table and sit down there. Fuck those big expectant eyes. Even behind her glasses they were effective, and she didn’t even know it...Ah, hell. What’s the worse that can happen, right? Maybe it’ll help to have an outside perspective. 

 

“...Same night the whole Plutonium clusterfuck started...Buttercup and I, may have...made out a little.” I admitted. Ravens brow furrowed. 

 

“I thought you were just friends?”

 

“With benefits apparently.”

 

“Alright. And this complicates things?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t seen her since, so…”

 

“So…? What?”

 

“Ugh. I really don’t wanna talk about this.”

 

“Sounds like you need to.”

 

“...I don’t know what’s gonna happen the next time I see her. I don’t know if that was a one time thing, or if she likes me like that, or what...All I know is, this kind of things tends to screw up friendships.” Or I do...’er whatever.

 

“Uh-huh.” 

 

The second I heard that come out of her mouth again, that ‘I don’t care for what we’re talking about’ uh-huh, I snapped my gaze to Raven. I was about to say something stupid and equally fucked up out of anger, then I took notice of her facial expression. I almost snorted. Raven was listening, but she looked incredibly uncomfortable. She looked how I felt. Didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

 

“Well, uh, what do you want out of it?” She asked, treading lightly from the vague situation I described. 

 

“That’s a good question.”

 

What did I want? I don’t want the friendship to end, I know that. And Buttercup was attractive. I wouldn’t mind hooks ups every now and then, if that’s what that was. But, what if Buttercup wanted something more than that? Relationships aren’t very appealing to me. I’m all for a physical relationship, but emotional has never been a strong suit of mine. Committing to open up and share has never...worked, before. If past attempts at relationships have told me anything, it’s that people who aren’t emotionally connected, do not sync up well. And apparently aren’t missed when they’re gone. I’d prefer that didn’t happen with the one good friend I have at the moment. 

 

The conversation trailed off after that. I’m sure Raven wasn’t expecting the conversation to go in that direction, but it had. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. That’s where it went, because that’s what’s going on. If she didn’t wanna hear about she shouldn’t’ve asked. Raven looked as though she was considering what to say, but there wasn’t anything I already didn’t know. Just like with my sisters. I offered her a smile. Which for me was no more than a slight grin. 

 

“Hey Raven?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m done with Mrs.S, is the other guy coming back to life? Or are you just finished with him?” I asked with a raised brow. Raven rolled her eyes and muttered something about me never missing the chance. 

 

“Sit tight, I’ll be finished in a bit.” She said.

 

“Alright, then get up. I’m going on the computer.” I said and wheeled her chair back over to the desk where it belonged. Out the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Raven shaking her head and getting back to what she was doing with the fresh stiff. 

 

I on the other hand started doing what I usually do on the computer. I checked my email. Not much there. I thought about going on youtube, but headphones were in my car, and I didn’t wanna distract Raven. I did plug my phone into charge while it was fresh in my mind though.

 

Behind me I heard the door open and someone walk in. 

 

“Raven, can we-- Oh, for lords sake! Brute, slacking off on the fickin’ computer again?” I heard the nasally tone of Duke and scowled to the computer. The only indication I gave that I had heard him was to raise my arm back and flip him off without looking his way. I could practically feel him simmering over there. “Here’s an idea, why don’t you get off your lazy butt and do some work for a change?”

 

“Hey Duke, why don’t you grow a pair and use the actual curse words instead of sounding like a virgin altar boy.” I said with a low monotone as I continued to stare at the computer screen. 

 

“Alter- you want curse words you cun--”

 

“Duke! What was it you wanted?” Raven cut in before he could finish the word that shall not be spoken. I snorted a mirthful chuckle at that. A little pixie laugh. Behind me Duke calmed but glared harder.

 

“Bitch.” He muttered as Raven lead him from the room.

 

“Prick.” I spat back. 

 

Fuckin’ Duke. What the hell is Duke even short for? Ducas? More like Douche-ass. Dumb whore. 

 

I continued this inner rant of poor insults while trying very hard to just scroll through tumblr without looking at my instant messages or notifications boxes. The last couple of days I hadn’t opened or checked any of the messages, but the messages kept coming in. I hadn’t even had any activity on my page other than looking at stuff in a few weeks hoping the unmedicatedbutcher would’ve given up. It didn’t work, I’m still getting spammed. 

 

With one last look over my shoulder, still alone on the room, I started looking through my messages from the last two and a half weeks. It started pretty standard. The same spiel I’d been getting for the last couple of months; whoever it was trying to get me to talk to them. 

 

-Hello.

 

-How was your day?

 

-Mine was alright.

 

-Tried a new sandwich shop that opened up.

 

-I mean, how can someone walk past a place called “Twelve Inches” and not get curious? 

 

-I was curious. Not anymore. I was very satisfied by Twelve Inches. 

 

-What’d you do for lunch?

 

-Was it good?

 

-Do you even lunch?

 

-Still ignoring me, huh…

 

-That’s fine.

 

-You’ll crack.

 

-You will before I will. That much I know. I can keep this up for as long as I want. 

 

-I’ve got the patience of a saint and nothing else going on.

 

-Plus I’m bored. 

 

-Why won’t you message me…

 

-Sorry for leaving so many messages.

 

-You watch much tv?

 

-I only do at night.

 

-Day time tv ain't for me.

 

-It’s getting late. We’ll pick this game up tomorrow.

 

-Goodnight my mouse.

 

-I see you haven’t been posting anything in awhile.

 

-Why not?

 

-I miss your posts.

 

-Why won’t you message me?

 

-Will you just respond, please?

 

-No likes, no reblogs, no messages.

 

-You don’t call, you don’t write.

 

-I’m not going to stop until you start talking to me. 

 

-Please respond.

 

-Hello again.

 

-Still on radio silence.

 

-Is your computer broken?

 

-The only time you don’t post is on the weekends.

 

-Is it a work computer? Is something going on at work?

 

-Are you okay?

 

-Talk to me.

 

-Let me give you my ears. 

 

-I saw you today.

 

-You didn’t see me.

 

-That’s alright.

 

-You looked a little banged up.

 

-Is something wrong with your arm? You should probably get that checked out.

 

-I like your car.

 

-It’s suiting.

 

-Where did you even get it?

 

-I can’t find any hearse dealerships.

 

-Why won’t you talk to me?

 

-You have to look at my messages eventually.

 

-You can’t keep ignoring me.

 

-Did I scare you the other night?

 

-I’m sorry.

 

-Who beat you up?

 

-Tell me who.

 

-You shouldn’t sleep in your car. That isn’t a good neighbor hood.

 

-What were you doing out there.

 

-You shouldn’t drink so much.

 

-Well, you can do whatever you want, but you shouldn’t drink when you're so banged up. Takes longer for your body to heal.

 

-...I think.

 

-You shouldn’t drink that much alone either.

 

-Do you always sleep that deeply, or was it just because you were drunk?

 

-The back of the hearse didn’t look very comfortable. Was is cold? You didn’t have a blanket. 

 

-I don’t like that you went to sleep.

 

-You could’ve had a concussion.

 

-You probably should have gone to hospital.

 

-Did you get your arm checked out?

 

-Why won’t you go to a hospital. 

 

-Who did that to you.

 

-Tell me...

 

-Fucking answer me!

 

-Hello.

 

-I found you again.

 

-How long have you been sleeping in your car?

 

-How much makeup were you wearing? It’s hard to tell through the tint on your windows. It’s gotta be pretty good stuff to hide those bruises and scuffs. 

 

-Get your arm looked at.

 

-I don’t like you sleeping in your car.

 

-Why aren’t you staying somewhere else?

 

-Have you even been online?

 

-When are you going to talk to me.

 

-This game is fun, but it’ll be a lot funner when when we can start talking to each other.

 

-Haven't seen your car around.

 

-Did you find my note?

 

By the time I had finished going through my messages I had gone completely stiff. I had hoped it wasn’t connected, but it looks like my harmless internet troll wasn’t so harmless. I don’t know what was more unsettling, that they knew my car, or that at least twice they had watched me sleep through my freaking windows! 

 

What the fuck am I going to do?! I can’t park street side anymore that’s for sure! I  _ won't  _ go crawling back home. Fight aside, I don’t want this fucker figuring out where I live. 

 

Christ, and here I thought it was  _ safer _ parking in Townsville...

 

“-ute…?” I hadn’t noticed when Raven came back in the room, or the first three times she had called my name. Halfway through the fourth I snapped out of my stupor.

 

“Huh? -er, what?” I mumbled. It took me only a second to shut the computer off. Didn’t even close the tab, just hit the button on the plug-in outlet and cut the power with my foot. 

 

“Duke was just informing me that we don’t have enough cars for service on Tuesday. We may need your assistance for an out of town trip. Do you think you’re car can handle it?”

 

“...How far?”

 

“Citiesville.” 

 

...Getting out of town for a few days might be a good thing. But what then?

 

“I can get you a bonus for the trip, as well as gas and housing for a couple of days.” Raven said as she worked without looking at me. Hm…

 

“Yeah, I think Blackjack can make the trip, but it’s gonna cost you.” I said as casually as I could manage at the moment. Raven looked up.

 

“What could you  _ possibly _ want?” 

 

“Ooh,  _ sassy _ .” I said in a mock tone. “Wanna try that again, it sounds like you need me more than I need you right now.” Raven looked like she wanted to say something, but glared and tried again.

 

“What are your demands?” She asked. That’s more like it. I raise one finger over my shoulder.

 

“One: I get to crash at your place the night before, so I can do laundry, bathe, look presentable, etc. and have a place to store my things while my car is in use.”

 

“I can agree to those terms.” Okay. I held up a second finger.

 

“And I’m gonna need the keys to the parking garage.” Raven gave me a perplexed look.

 

“Why do you need--”

 

“Do we have a deal or not?”

 

“Yes! Yes, fine! We have a deal, I’ll get you the keys tomorrow.”

 

“You’ll get them  _ now _ , and be thankful that’s all I asked for.”

 

“You’ll get them when you get them, and remind yourself that legally you're not even supposed to be  _ working _ here, let alone parking your car in the garage.”

 

“Right...So who’s our luck passenger?”

 

“Mrs.Snyder over there. I’ll get you the directions to my cousin's property.” I almost flipped the roller chair over.

 

“Wait, your what? Oh my god do you  _ know _ that woman?!” I asked in a panic, eyeing the woman I had made talk to me less than an hour ago.

 

“By that spectacle you put on earlier, I’d say you’re more acquainted with her than I am. This is my cousins grandmother.” Raven replied. I eyed her warily.

 

“...Are you going to be at the funeral?”

 

“As I said, this is my  _ cousins _ grandmother. No relation.”

 

“Ah. Don’t scare me like that. I thought this job really had gotten to you for a second.” I laughed a little.

 

“Please. If anyones mind has been poisoned by this job it’s yours.”

 

“Yeah. Suuure...” 

  
  


As it turns out, Raven can’t get the keys until after I get back from the funeral. All my stuff was stored at her house, I was all fresh and ready to go wearing clean freshly cleaned underwear (Hallelujah!!) and the formal clothes I saved for work. I.E: a dark black pantsuit with stitching, a dressier dark grey undershirt, and shiney black dress shoes. The only color I had were my pine green socks, but those were completely concealed by the long pants I had to keep rolled up and cuffed over my shoes. All washed up, and dressed crisp, all I had to do next was go to work and pick up two things. 

 

Raven had only agreed to let me stay at her house the night before I left. The nights leading up to that I had to find a good place to park for the night. Not able to access the parking garage, I did the next best thing. I parked in the client's parking lot outside. It might’ve been a little bit a gamble parking outside work. On one hand, if my stalker finds my car again, they know where I work. But on the other, what better place to hide than in plain sight? Finding a hearse parked on the street might be easy, but seeing one parked in front of a morgue doesn’t exactly ignite suspicion. 

 

I had keys to get in and sleep in the Dungeon, but access to the garage I did not have. Not without tripping the alarms of course, but if I had the right keys that wouldn’t be a problem. 

 

That being said the other night after charging my phone I forgot to actually grab it before heading over to Raven’s. So I gotta pick that up. Oh, and Mrs.Snyder. Gotta get the old gal too. 

 

I noticed with irritation most of the stations on the radio at one point or another had replaced the regularly scheduled music with news. There was a power outage last night leading to several car crashes in inner Townsville. Nothing bad, but a lot of traffic. It’s unfortunate. Well lit areas like that suffer from an outage, the street lights and building lose power, and no one's prepared to suddenly not be able to see anything. That and a lot of looting took place, but whatever. Every station was talking about it the entire drive to the morgue. 

 

As I pulled into the lot, I noticed a police car and the Slator’s vehicle parked up front. My brows knit with concern. 

 

“What in the hell?”

 

When I entered the building, as always the first person I came into contact with was Duke. Looking irritated sitting behind the front desk. Past him I could see an officer speaking with the Slators.

 

“Hey. Douche-ass. What’s going on?” 

 

“If you had answered your phone this morning, you’d know that already.”

 

“I left it in the Dungeon. Now, are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to figure it out for myself?”

 

“I didn’t know being left to you're own devices so difficult.” He commented under his breath as he attempted to ignore me.

 

“That hurt, Duke. Hurt like a youtube comment.” I said dryly. To which I got a glare. 

 

“I can sit here all day, Douche.” I said and got nice and comfortable leaning on his desk. That of course was a bluff, and after five minutes of staring at Duke as he ignored me, with a visual twitch on my face, a curled lip and a soft growl, I had to turn away from him. As it turns out I had other commitments, and  _ couldn’t _ sit there all day. 

 

“Y’got lucky today.” I growled.

 

“Hmm.” He hummed in response. Prick.

 

I headed down to the Dungeon and grabbed my phone. Wrapped around it was it’s charger cord. Hm. Thought I left it plugged in. One of the other girls must’ve done that. Weird. Usually they don’t touch my stuff. I didn’t think much of it and shoved it in my pocket. Then notified the guys upstairs to load up Mrs.Snyder in my car. On my way out the Slator’s had finished speaking with the police officer, and were standing in the doorway. It didn’t look like we were robbed. What could the police be here for? Upon seeing me headed their way Mrs.Slator beckoned me over. 

 

“Mournin’! What the hell’s going on?” I called.

 

“No one’s told you? Oh, where are my manners--Hello Brute, good morning!” Mrs.Slator called, causing my lips to curl slightly. Mr.Slator shook his head a little.

 

“This morning we get a call making me get outta bed at five, and it’s our insurance telling me our security system’s been inactive for some time.”

 

“He got into such a fuss with the young man on the phone--” Mrs.Slator pitched in.

 

“Well, I don’t care when he called, we pay them to take care of our facility and they should’ve paid better attention--” 

 

“Wait, what happened?” I cut in before Mr.Slator could start up on what I’m sure the elderly couple had already been argueing about today. Mr.Slator sighed.

 

“Around one or two last night there was a temporary power outage for about an hour. You know how them damn druggies get during a blackout, swiping what they can and sending the town into anarchy overnight.” He said with distaste.

 

“...Looters?” I guessed, having not completely followed the end of that last sentence. Mrs.Slator nodded accordingly. 

 

“I guess the new thing these days is stealing the wiring from power cords and recycling it for money to get their next fix.” Mrs.Slator said grimly. God I love listening to old people talk. 

 

“So some tweaker used the blackout to steal wiring from...what?”

 

“Our security system. All the alarms, the cameras, everything. Useless.”

 

I didn’t know what to say. It sucked, but I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I settled on something most people would say. What’s expected to be said.

 

“Are the cops going to catch them?” I asked, despite knowing the odds.

 

“It’s not looking good. The insurance company was so wrapped up with the power outage they didn’t notice our security was still down for a few more hours. By the time the cops could get up here and look into it they were long gone. They told us the odds of catching them by now were low.” Mr.Snyder said in a low tone, obviously irritated by the whole situation.

 

“And the insurance company? What about our security system?”

 

“It’ll be replaced soon enough, better than the one we had.” Mrs.Slator answered. 

 

“And nothing else was taken?” I asked. Mrs.Slator shook her head. “Well at least there’s that...this still sucks…” 

 

The Slator’s gave me the rest of the rundown, then shoo’d me on my way not wanting to make me late. I didn’t mind. I didn’t always care for the conversations that went on, but they were good people. And this was something of interest in one way or another. They told me to drive safe, we parted, I headed to the car, now fully stocked. I got over there just as our engine guy, whatever the hell his occupation was called, finished up looking over my car. He gave me advice to avoid breaking down and told me a few signs that something’s going wrong, and I left on my three and a half hour drive to Citiesville.

  
  


The distance itself wasn’t so difficult, the actual location however was. It was located along the outskirts of Citiesville. Some ranch Mrs.S had apparently grown up at which still belonged in the family. Finding it was going to be a challenge. And I didn’t have much time to do so. I had that temperature in the car on the lowest setting to help keep everything...Fresh. Luckily my clothes were thick enough to keep me warm. 

 

About an hour into the drive it occurred to me to check my phone. After unraveling it from it’s power cord, I turned it on. Holy shit. A very continuous strain of unrhythmic vibrations quickly gave me the message that someone had spammed my phone in the last few days. With one glance I could see that the most recent was from Buttercup. Some of the others were probably from my sisters, or from work. None of which I felt like dealing with at the moment. Twenty-three unread messages, oh my god. No way I’m looking through all that right now. At least not till I’ve stopped driving. Yeah…

 

For safety.

 

That being said I tucked my phone away for later. 

 

After the long stretch of serenity, came the chaos of the inner city. Almost an hour of horn blaring, road rage fueled assholes, traffic that’d make townsville cry, and a few wrong turns, I managed to make it out and find the damn place without my car breaking down, or technically being late. 

 

A long scenic driveway lead to a huge old white farm house. Looked like the type of house someone would buy in the thirties if they had a shit ton of money. By the time I pulled up the pallbearers were already waiting outside at the bottom of the staircase that lead to the porch and my car was starting to smoke. 

 

“Alright, hurry, hurry, hurry! Get her out, my air conditioner quit on me ten minutes ago!” I quietly commanded as the four men started with the coffin. 

 

“What do you mean it quit? Where were you; what took you so long?” One of the guys asked in a hushed tone trying mask his irritation. The other four got to work unloading her as one of them ran inside to alert the family that their dear old gran has arrived.

 

“I had to find the damn place! She’s here ain't she?” I said and his face dropped. But as everyone heard the door to the house open up, all irritation melted away and was masked with expressions soft as kittens. 

 

My eyes widened. The woman standing in the doorway was wearing what appeared to be a black sun dress, sandals, a wicker sun hat with fresh flowers arranged on it, and to tie it all together, a brightly colored tie-dyed shall of every color draped over her arms. She took a deep breath, with her arms stretched out as if trying to feel the world. A wide smile spread across her lips.

 

“What a beautiful day!” She chimed as she descended the staircase. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she directed where the pallbearers where to go, then turned to me and the guy I was talking to, whom I now assume is the coordinator. 

 

She was tall with a small frame. Long limbs with lightly tanned skin, and long brown hair, lighter on top than other layers. She didn’t strike me as the type to get highlights or sit around tanning. She probably just spent a lot of time outside. As she got closer I got a better look at her face. Round dark hazel eyes, deep red lipstick on thin lips, wrinkles from smiling, and a warm smile to match. 

 

“Hello Mrs.Snyder, I trust everything is going well? Is there anything that needs to be taken care of?” The coordinator asked. 

 

“Nothing at all! Oh, everything is just perfect! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping; we couldn’t have asked for a better day! You’ve done a fantastic job, why don’t you go inside and take a rest? Have some lemonade why not, it’s made fresh from the lemons of that old tree out back. You must be under so much stress I can see it emanating off you.”

 

“I don’t thi-” The coordinator tried to interject but Mrs.Snyder didn’t even give the guy a chance.    
  


“Ah-ah-ah!” She tutted, waving a finger like she was scolding a small child. “I insist.” She said with a wink. The coordinators expression warmed a little as he relented and smiled.

 

“That’s very kind of you.” He said and went inside as she placed a hand on his back and steered him in the direction of the house. 

 

That was...Odd. 

 

My mask of soft kitten fur had fell into a stoic frown at that display, and I was a little afraid if I tried to change it, my face might reflect how confused I was. Before I knew what was happening the lady had turned back around on me. Arms stretched out smile as cheerful as can be I didn’t realize what was happening until she had sucked me into an unexpected hug. 

 

I went stiff in her hold when I realized what was happening and used all my self restraint to let it happen and get through it without snapping something or shoving her away. I held back a wince as her hug sent more pain through my bad arm. She was clamped on right where the knife had gone in. By the time she let go I was just about seething through my teeth. She pulled back and I managed to compose myself before she could notice...Mostly. 

 

“-reciate you driving all this way with my mother, we really do.” She said, but I was a little too shell shocked to catch the first part of what she said. That and all I could focus on was her hands still on my upper arms, keeping me trapped in her hold. Her hand still digging in uncomfortably into my bad arm, even though I’m sure she didn’t have much of a grip on me. She didn't even hug me that hard. That can’t be good. “It wasn’t too bad of a burden, was it?”

 

Like a dumbass not fully paying attention, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

 

“Oh not at all. The old gal was the life of the party.” The words barely escaped my lips when it set in what exactly I had said. Before I could apologize, or cover it up, or say  _ anything _ she burst into a hearty laugh.

 

_ Oh shit, she's hysterical. I sent her into hysterics. _

 

This is why I stay in The Dungeon.  _ Never leave the Dungeon! _

 

“That is just as she was!” The woman finally said once she finished laughing. “Oh she would’ve loved that!” 

 

...What?

 

“Oh, I’m sorry I never introduced myself. My name is River Snyder, I believe you're already acquainted with Ravine, my mother. Welcome to our home grounds!” She said with a dramatic hand gesture to the house and the land around it. 

 

Holy shit she ain't mad. Or sad.

 

What the fuck?

 

“Uhh, I’m Brute. Brute Plutonium.” I said as formal and professionally as I could muster. 

 

“Hello miss Brute! Oh I just love your name it’s so unique!--” Well that’s one way of putting it. “You must be exhausted-- All the way from Townsville; that’s quite the commute! Why don’t you come in and have some lemonade, and rest up a bit? Get your land legs back. I’m sure everyone would love to meet you, we’re all very grateful for what you’ve done.” 

 

I had to give it to her. Talking came very easily to this woman. I could barely get a word in edgewise, much like the coordinator moments ago. Come on Brute. Be professional.

 

“Oh no, I can’t.” Remain composed. “I don't want to impose, uh...I really should get going.”

 

Even as I spoke I could see River looking past me to the still smoking front end of my car. 

 

“Well Miss Brute, it doesn’t look like you’ll be able to leave for a while as it is anyway, and It’d just ruin this day to know you were out here sitting in your car all alone during our celebration of life.” Damn this woman plays hard ball. “So long as you're here we’d love it if you could join us. Come! Please, indulge!”

 

Fuck, I gotta get out of this.

 

“That’s very kind, but--” Before I could ge the words out, she had her arm once again around me and was herding me towards the door to the house.

 

“No, really! It’s no trouble, come inside I’ll introduce you.” Then I saw the triumphant grin pierce her skin. “I  _ insist _ .”

 

Well fuck. This tricky bitch knows what she’s doing. 

 

Unspoken rule of dealing with mourners. If it’s not to big, and you aren’t in need somewhere else: what the mourner wants, the mourner gets. 

 

I stole a quizzical glance at River, and briefly wondered how many services she’s attended in her life to know the ropes like this.

 

It took some energy, but I repressed a sigh of resignation and forced a smile, probably not a very convincing one, and gave a nod as she ushered me up the stairs and through the front door. 

 

Barely three steps into the livingroom, the epicenter of all things funeral, and I was confused. I was used to uncomfortable silence of brought down mourning family and friends. I was comfortable with that. I wasn’t by any means good with that, but at least I knew what was up. 

 

This…

 

I had no idea what to make of this…

 

Everyone was happy and chattering, and loud like it was a freaking new years wedding. It wasn’t just River. Everyone else was wearing flowers and tie-dye and only small amounts of black. It was surreal, the amounts of cheerfulness  that engulfed the room. I felt like I was suffocating in it. 

 

I was out of my element.

 

What the hell am I supposed to do. 

 

I noticed the other funeral workers having similar feelings of displacement. They seemed to be the only ones that stuck out in all this. I saw five of them in the room, the coordinator, and two of the pallbearers, and two I hadn’t met yet. They were posted more on the outskirts of the room. By the doors, of the snack table standing straight and reserved. I don’t think they quite knew what to either, but at least they seemed to be having an okay time conversing with the lively bunch of hippies crowding the room. 

 

In my confusion I turned to my only lifeline, to see that she had abandoned me. River was already halfway across the room chatting with other family members, their laughs filling the already loud room. 

 

Fuck. How does this happen?

 

Not really knowing what to do with myself, I decided to at least head over to the snack table and check out the  _ lemonade _ I’d heard so much about. Maybe after a bit I could duck out and check on my car, and make my gettaway. 

 

Then I saw something out the corner of my eyes that almost made me trip and fall in the middle of the room. Out the back door as someone opened it I caught a glimpse of outside were more people had gathered outside. That small glimpse was enough to see one thing in particular. On  _ person _ to be more exact.

 

Jesus  _ Christ _ . What the hell is she doing here?! 

 

...This was not going to be an average funeral. 

**Author's Note:**

> This can also be found on Fanfiction.net, and Deviantart. Check out my deviant art to see the drawing I posted with each chapter as well as dossiers.


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